To Give the Devil His Due
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Set in post Civil War. Hoss and Joe bring Adam home only to have him face more trouble from his past. All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original plots and characters are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. Chapter 1

**To Give the Devil His Due**

**One The Goatherder**

It was midday and Hoss and Joe Cartwright rode through the dusty, hot Mexican village. Their horses trod with dropped heads, white foam on their necks and haunches.

"Dang, Joe, when I get this hot, I forget what it feels like to be cold—or even cool. There must be a gallon of sweat sloshin' around in each of my boots."

"Good. It's the closest you've come to washing your feet in months."

"Oh, you're funny, you are."

The two brothers observed the still streets of the little village where the only sounds were from bone-thin curs barking with little enthusiasm, not really interested in chasing away the two strangers. "I think we need to be takin' one of them siestas like ever'body else. What's that word mean anyway? Nap?"

"No. Sixth hour—you know—six hours after sunup."

"Well, I could use a nap right 'bout now. Lay in one of them hammocks in the shade like that old man was back there—it's too dang hot to be ridin' anywhere."

"You lay in a hammock and you'll uproot the two trees holding it—you'd pull them over." Hoss was about to respond when Joe stood up in his stirrups. "Look," he said, pointing off to their right. "I think that must be the house. The old man said it was out of town, had a broken-down fence and goats and chickens wandering around."

It had been a little over a month since Ben Cartwright had received an unsigned letter that stated his son, "Captain Adam Cartwright, Nevada Territory Battalion," had been sighted in a small town in Mexico—or a man who looked very much like Adam; he hadn't turned his head when his name was called. The writer of the letter, for a reason he would not share, was unable to explore the matter of the man's identity any further: "But it could very well have been your son, Mr. Cartwright. I served under him. He is a fine man and an excellent officer, and we often spoke of our homes and families as all of us were homesick. But having abandoned my unit, having deserted, I cannot reveal my identity. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to make you aware of my speculation. For your sake, I hope it was Captain Cartwright since I know he survived the war. If Captain Cartwright is home, then it was not he who I saw. If he is not with his family, it may very well have been him."

Ben was determined to travel to the little Mexican village, Miseria_,_ cited in the letter to determine if it truly was Adam – it had been so long since they had received any news of him. But despite his protestations and determination, his other two sons insisted on going in his stead. It was agreed upon. And finally, Hoss and Joe had reached the small, dry town of Miseria.

"I think that old man done give us crazy directions 'cause he was pissed we woke him up from his siesta," Hoss said.

"Well, that silver dollar I tossed him will give him sweet dreams, probably about some woman he can now afford." Joe had been forced to proffer the coin, dazzling in the bright sunlight, before the old man would say anything to them other than "Déjame solo—Americano cabrons."

After a few more minutes of riding, Hoss and Joe left the last white-washed buildings of the small village behind. In the distance, on a small hillock sat a house—an adobe hut —with a partially downed fence, the one the old man had mentioned. The walls needed whitewashing and the roof, new tiles. The Cartwright brothers pulled up their horses and two small boys came pouring out of the open front door. When they saw the two men were gringos, they stopped and shyly grinned.

Hoss and Joe dismounted; it seemed friendlier that way. Hoss crouched down but kept a safe distance away. Both boys were barefoot, their faces dirty and their clothes stained and showing the scars of mending.

"My name's Hoss Cartwright," he said smiling. The boys smiled back. "That name mean anything to you? You know anyone else named Cartwright? Maybe Adam Cartwright?"

The taller, older, of the two boys held out one hand. Dirt was ingrained in the small lines of his palm.

Hoss looked up at Joe who suppressed a giggle, shrugging his shoulders at Hoss' questioning look. Hoss stood up and dug change from his pocket, looked at it and picked out a penny, dumping the rest of the coins back into a pocket. He placed the penny on the grimy palm and the child quickly snapped his hand shut on the piece of copper and the two boys ran back into the house.

"Why that little buzzard stole my money!" Hoss was annoyed. Joe just laughed.

"He saw you coming, didn't he? You must have 'sucker' written across your forehead – in Spanish." Joe noticed a small trough on the shady side of the house. "Let's water our horses and sit in the shade for a while. At least it'll get us out of this heat."

The two men began to lead their horses when the younger boy cautiously came back out of the house. Hoss and Joe waited and the boy ran up to them and held out his palm.

"Can't fool me twice," Hoss said. The boy just looked up at them with pathetic, liquid-brown eyes. "Adam Cartwright," Hoss repeated. "You tell me if you know somethin' 'bout Adam Cartwright, a gringo, and I'll give you this." Hoss dug in his pocket and then held up a nickel—silver—and the boy's eyes opened even wider.

"I don't think he understands English," Joe said. "Let's just wait an hour or so and go back to town. We need to feed the horses anyway and find a place to sleep." But Hoss had crouched down again, displaying the coin between his huge fingers, ignoring Joe. The boy stared at the nickel, at its glistening whiteness. Then he tried to snatch it from Hoss but Hoss was too quick and flipped it back into his palm, folding his fingers over it.

"Adam Cartwright. You tell me 'bout 'im or find someone who can." Hoss stood up to his full height.

"Hoss, he doesn't know what you're saying…"

The boy ran off a few steps and then stopped, turned and beckoned the two brothers to follow him.

"Maybe not," Hoss said, smirking, "but he sure understands a nickel."

The boy stopped at the back corner of the house and Hoss and Joe left their horses at the half-filled trough and followed. The boy pointed with one hand and then held out the other for the nickel. Hoss peeked around and in the shade of the house, saw a man asleep in a red, wooden chair, the paint almost worn away. It was propped on its back legs, jammed against the wall, and the man's head rested against the plastered adobe wall, his mouth slack. Soft snores escaped him and an empty bottle sat beside him on the ground.

Hoss motioned for Joe and he too looked at the sleeping man.

"Could be Adam," Hoss said with a confirming nod. Joe agreed and then Hoss felt a tug at his pants leg. He looked down and the child held up his empty hand. "Guess you earned it." Hoss placed the nickel in the child's filthy palm and the child grinned and ran off. "Look at him skedaddle." Then Hoss turned his attention back to the sleeping man.

Hoss and Joe moved to stand in front of the tall, lanky man. The sun had darkened his naturally swarthy complexion and his hair was gray at the temples but it was brushed back off his face. The beard was untrimmed with two streaks of gray hair running from the corners of his mouth. "Should we wake him?"

"My guess is siesta time is 'bout over. Let me wake 'im." Hoss grinned at Joe who couldn't help but smile.

"Be my guest." Joe made a flourish with a sweeping arm and Hoss kicked the chair out from under the man. He toppled to the ground and then, with cat-like movements, jumped to his feet and faced the men, his hands in fists, ready for a fight – but only for a breath. He stared at the two men for a split-second longer and then visibly relaxed, a huge grin graced his face, his white teeth flashing.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said.

~ 0 ~

The woman complained as she cooked. She made a great deal of noise with the dented skillet on the smoky stove, waving around the wooden spoon as she stridently protested. She also yelled at the two boys who lurked around the table staring at the two visitors. The boys paid the woman no mind, but every so often, they whispered to one another.

Hoss was spooning more fried beans on a tortilla, ready to roll it and eat. It was his fifth one. Before him was a squat, blue glass filled with cheap wine. Adam had told him the choice was either wine or warm goat's milk. Hoss took the wine.

"What's them two saying to each other?" Hoss asked Adam, jerking his thumb toward the two boys.

"They're probably amazed at how much you eat," Joe said, picking up his glass and swirling the bitter red liquid.

Adam smiled, and still chewing, said, "They're probably trying to figure how to roll you like a fat tortilla for the rest of your money."

"Yeah, I figured as much. What's Carmelita mad about?" The woman, Carmelita, kept glancing over at them as they sat around the rough-hewn table, her brows furrowed. She wasn't a pretty woman. Her face reflected hard work, hard times and a hard heart as she glowered at the two guests, begrudging them every bite of food.

When Adam had brought his brothers into the house after talking out back for an hour or so, Carmelita wanted them gone and made no bones about it. She and Adam argued but he outshouted her—which hadn't been easily accomplished. She then snatched up a knife and raised it. Adam grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back until she dropped the knife. Carmelita stopped arguing then and glaring at Hoss and Joe while she rubbed her wrist, walked over to the stove and stoked it with wood and goat dung and began to cook, but she glanced at them and spat on the floor, muttering. Adam ignored her so Hoss and Joe sat down at the table.

Carmelita skillfully patted out tortillas, fried them in popping grease, and then spooned up a huge bowl of paste-like refried beans and in another bowl, a brown sauce with bits of meat. She slammed their plates down on the table one at a time and then placed the bowls and tortillas in the middle. Hoss and Joe watched while Adam took a tortilla and smeared it with beans. Then using the small, clay spoon, put the brown sauce on the beans, rolled the whole thing up so as not to let the filling spill out, held it horizontally and angling his head, ate. He wiped his mouth and beard on his sleeve. Joe couldn't help but raise his brows questioningly at Hoss; their older brother Adam would never do such a thing.

Hoss and Joe had followed suit and they found the meal was surprisingly tasty and filling, much better than the Mexican food they had eaten before. The only reason Joe paused was that when he asked what the meat was, Adam had replied, "Goat."

"Dang good goat," Hoss had said, having no qualms, and made himself another tortilla, intermittently waving away flies that wanted to settle.

"So, what do you do around here, Adam? I mean other than drink and sleep."

"Oh, I'm just the hired man – a goatherd - and do what I'm told," he said as he licked his fingers before wiping them on his shirt sleeves.

"Goatherd?"

"Yeah. I take the goats out to pasture—what passes as a pasture, a few times a week, feed them what little grain I can barter, milk them, slaughter them, dress them and sell the meat in the village."

"What d'ya get for that?" Hoss asked as he reached for his glass.

"Sex and food. My needs are simple and few."

"What about them kids?" Hoss asked. The two boys ate while sitting on the rock-hard dirt floor; it had been swept and walked upon for so long that it no longer even resembled dirt but more like glass.

"What about them?" Adam asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

"That little one—he ain't yours, is he?" Hoss jerked his thumb in the boys' direction.

"No. He was just learning to walk when I showed up."

"What happened to their father?" Joe asked.

'Wouldn't know. Don't even know who he is. I don't think Carmelita even knows."

Joe glanced at Hoss. Then both looked at their older brother who was leaning with both elbows on the table, holding up his glass and staring into it as if it was a crystal ball showing the future.

Hoss cleared his throat. He sensed that Adam had closed-up, didn't want to talk anymore; he had already asked about their father and the Ponderosa and how things were. But then, Hoss considered, Adam had always been that way. As they were growing up, many times Adam would go off alone, sometimes with a book, sometimes not. But he seemed to need to be alone sometimes and this appeared to be one of those times.

"Joe and me had better head back to town, find a hotel room or somethin'." He had noticed that the one room house had pallets on the floor for the boys and one corner of the room had an unmade bed behind a half-drawn curtain.

"There's no hotel around here. Hell, there's barely what I would call a restaurant. Carmelita sells eggs to a little place that passes as one. You can put your bedrolls on the floor in here or sleep outside. Up to you."

"I think outside," Joe said, "at least for me. With all of us crowded in here, it'll be too hot." Sweat ran down all their faces and their shirts stuck to their backs. "Besides, with all those beans Hoss ate, I think the wide-open spaces are better."

Adam grinned. "Suit yourself. And if you hear the goats stirring, check for a coyote or wolf, would you. Save me from having to get up."

The three rose and Carmelita came in carrying a bucket of water.

"Let me take that for you, ma'am," Hoss said, reaching out.

But Carmelita practically spat the words, "No te toques, gran buey!"

"Don't think she likes you much," Joe said, giggling.

"Wha'd she say, Adam?" Hoss asked, frowning.

Adam smiled. "She said, 'No, thank you. I can manage."

"Yeah, right she did." Hoss dug in his pocket for coins and looked at the array in his palm. He noticed the two boys who had been sitting on their pallets while they ate, put down their plates preparing to move. "They know the sound of money, don't they? And they got hearin' like a coon dog." Hoss picked out two silver dollars and slapped them on the table. "That oughta pay for our beans." Carmelita turned at the sound and before her two boys could reach the table, she swept them up in her palm. But she still didn't smile. "We're headin' outside," Hoss said to Adam. " 'Spect you'll have your mind made up in the mornin'?"

"I already told you…" Adam reconsidered. "Yeah, in the morning." He nodded to his brothers and they left the small house to sleep in the yard. And Adam's heart went with them. It was then that, despite his having defended himself and his choice to stay in Mexico, to his brothers, Adam realized he wanted to return home. The war was over and the world seemed to have returned to normal. If only he was.

The sound of Carmelita upbraiding and threatening to slap her two sons who were whining about something - Adam never bothered himself with their daily, petty battles—caused him to turn slightly in their direction. He took in the space, the dirt floor, the grimy pallets where the children slept night after night, the bed where he and Carmelita slept with its mélange of woven blankets and sagging mattress. The ceiling and upper walls were covered with soot from the cook stove and the lamps and candles. And it was hot. But it was always hot and the evenings brought little relief from the oppressive heat. The windows were open for any passing breeze, but they were small, squares in the thick adobe walls and their flimsy linen curtains did little to keep out the flies that buzzed around the goats, their dung, and the guano from the chickens that scratched in the early day to find sustenance in the yard.

Adam smiled derisively but only to himself as he was the only one who would see the humor. Here he was, the scion to the wealthiest family in Nevada, living in a hovel, tending goats and finding his comfort in bottles of mezcal and between the thin thighs of an angry woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two The Ponderosa Plague**

"I'm so goddamn tired of sleepin' on the ground," Hoss grumbled as he shook out his bedroll and smoothed it on the dirt. "Ever' mornin' I wake up bitten by God knows what." Although the night was hot, Hoss had built a fire between them so that if he woke up, he could see anything that was creeping across the ground to feast on him. He swatted away another insect. "These miserable _piquetes de zancudo; _I ain't never had so many itching red bumps in my life! Wish I had some of Hop Sing's home remedies for 'em."

"You sure those bumps aren't a result of that visit to the brothel in El Paso?"

"You're really a jokester, ain't you."

"C'mon, Hoss, I'm as miserable as you are—probably more. I'm tired of listening to you snore and tonight, turn your ass downwind, would you? I don't want to smell all those frijoles you ate." Joe pulled his top blanket higher over his shoulder. He was tired of dirt and sweat and traveling as well. And worry over his father was a heavy burden. Joe listened while Hoss moved about trying to make himself comfortable, moving his saddle used as a pillow, until he was situated. When Hoss was finally still, Joe spoke.

"You think Adam'll come home with us?"

Hoss was silent for a few seconds and Joe raised his head to look over his shoulder. Hoss' broad back was to him.

"I don't know. Least he didn't say no outright so I guess there's a chance but…I just don't know, Joe. He's been here almost three years so… Maybe he loves Carmelita and them boys but iffen he does, well, I don't see it. I just don't know."

Joe rested his head again on the smooth leather of the saddle. "Carmelita's one sour woman. Can't see Adam being in love with her. But if Adam doesn't come back with us, I think it'll kill Pa."

"Adam tol' me somethin' once—don't worry 'bout things that ain't yet happened. In the mornin' we'll deal with it. Things always look better in the sunlight."

"Except Carmelita," Joe said and the brothers laughed together.

"Go to sleep, Joe," Hoss said. "Long day tomorrow iffen Adam comes with us or not. At least we can tell Pa he's alive."

"Yeah, I guess. Wonder what Pa'll say when he hears Adam's a goatherder and after all that expensive education too."

Hoss chuckled. "Maybe Adam reads that Shakespeare to those goats after he beds 'em down." Joe couldn't help but smile at the image. "Anyways," Hoss added, "we'll deal with Adam then-and more beans for breakfast, I'm sure."

Hoss said no more and soon, he was asleep. But sleep eluded Joe. He kept thinking about their conversation with Adam behind the house. He went over what was said—tried to analyze what Adam had meant and if he had misunderstood the true meaning of Adam's comments.

_Adam passed around the bottle of mezcal while the three brothers sat on the ground in the shade of the house. A gray dapple was tethered in a field and it cropped what little grass could be found, sharing the space with some goats. The animal had good conformation but was thin, obviously not having had a meal of oats in a long time._

_Twice already, the two boys had peeked around the corner and twice Adam had scolded them. The second time, Adam made a quick motion with his wrist and they quickly withdrew and stayed away._

_"__Adam," Hoss said, "I don't speak much Spanish but wha'd you say 'bout heads and chickens?"_

_"__I said if they came back again, you'd bite their heads off like you do chickens, and swallow them down whole."_

_Joe snuck a look at Hoss who cleared his throat and spoke, looking to see if the two sets of large brown eyes were staring about the corner of the building but the boys were gone. "Wish you'd written Pa more. He don't say much but I know he keeps hopin'."_

_"__I wrote Pa when the war ended—told him I wouldn't be home for a while." Adam offered the bottle to Joe who put up his hand. The alcohol had hit him hard; after just a few slugs, the world began to seem slightly off-kilter._

_"__Ever' day he looks for a letter from you. Kinda cruel not to let 'im know you're all right." From his shirt pocket, Hoss pulled a packet of rolling papers and a small bag of loose tobacco and began to roll himself a cigarette. _

_"__Roll me one, would you?" Adam asked. "I haven't had a decent smoke in ages, just some cheap cigars from town. I think they roll horse dung in a few tobacco leaves and pass it off as a smoke – stinks like horse shit too."_

_Hoss rolled a cigarette, sealed it by licking it, and handed it to Adam._

_"__Thanks." Hoss handed a match to Adam who struck it on the sole of his slipper, lit the cigarette, and then took a long draw, closing his eyes. "I know I should have written, but there's no post here. I couldn't get a letter to him even if I had paper and a pen to write. And besides, I wouldn't know what else to say." He took a slug from the bottle and then passed it to Hoss who upturned the bottle and took a long swallow._

_"__So why didn't you come home after the war?" Joe asked. "We couldn't think of a reason why you wouldn't."_

_"__I have my reasons."_

_"__But why here?" Joe asked. "I mean what do you do all day in this place?"_

_"__I'm guessing you mean other than sleeping and staying drunk."_

_"__Yeah, Adam. Other than that." Joe's voice echoed his rising anger._

_"__I keep busy." There was an awkward pause among the three men. "I have no right to ask since I haven't written, but how is Pa? Is he well? You didn't come because he's ill or dying or anything?" _

_"__Nice of you to get aroun' to askin' but no, he ain't dyin'," Hoss said, "but things also ain't been all that good on the Ponderosa lately. A new rancher done moved in and he ain't been nothin' but trouble and Pa is gettin' old. He don't need more worry to turn his hair white."_

_"__What kind of trouble?" Adam released the smoke slowly out his nose, savoring the warmth and stimulation of the tobacco._

_"__Oh, you know—just little things like stolen cattle that Mansfield says ain't stolen but we know damn well were 'cause we found their slaughtered hides. We press charges and then the judge dismisses 'em for lack of evidence when we got damn good evidence"_

_"__A carcass isn't evidence of who slaughtered the beeve, just that it was."_

_"__Well, why don't you go work for 'im as one of his lawyer since you think the same way they do?" Hoss asked._

_"__Just stating a legal fact, Hoss." Adam took another swig of mezcal. He considered he hadn't had a real conversation since he'd been in Miseria. He was either dickering over prices of goat milk and goat meat or arguing with Carmelita. Even in their bed they never spoke, just grunted or moaned as they rolled in the sweat-soaked sheets. Often, Adam knew, he would go a whole day without saying a complete sentence._

_"__Yeah, well… And then there's the fight over water rights and—jus' somethin' all the time". Hoss waved away a fly that was annoying him. "Just like these damn bitin' flies, Mansfield's always buzzin' 'round and causin' us trouble. Makes you wake up each mornin' wonderin' what misery's comin' up along with the sun."_

_"__Who is this new rancher?" Adam drank some more mezcal. The combination of tobacco and the agave liquor was sending warm waves of relaxation through his veins. He felt his eyes get heavy and he wanted nothing more than to nap again. _

_"__Name's Mansfield—Jarvis Mansfield. Bought land…"_

_"__Who?" Adam suddenly became alert and Joe and Hoss looked at one another. _

_"__Jarvis Mansfield. Mean anything to you?" Joe asked._

_"__Might." Adam looked from Hoss to Joe._

_"__His men call him Colonel," Joe added. "Supposedly, he's some war hero. Heard of him?"_

_"__No, I…I must've been thinking of someone else." He shouldn't have lied, Adam knew, but he needed to find out more before he told what he knew, what he remembered._

_"__Well," Hoss added, "this Mansfield's bought about 50 square acres of land that abuts the Ponderosa. Hell, we have to go the long way round to Carson City 'cause we can't cut through his property or we're trespassing and might get shot dead. And now that Carson City's got a standin' judge, all the cases are tried there. No circuit judge in Virginia City anymore like there used to be. And seems that every single decision goes Mansfield's way no matter what."_

_"__You looked into it? Looked to see if there's any relationship between Mansfield and this judge? What's the judge's name?"_

_"__Wolfe," Joe added. "Adrian Wolfe. The Honorable Adrian Wolfe."_

_"__Honorable, my ass," Hoss said. "And yeah, we looked into it. Hiram done researched and even set his clerk to pulling up Wolfe's past decisions. But according to Hiram, there's nothin' to connect'em. Hiram's advice is to talk with Mansfield and reach our own agreements 'bout traveling through his property—even if we have to pay a yearly toll. Same thing for the water rights. That sonovabitch done damned up the creek that pools in our north pasture. We have to keep the cattle outta it since the creek's gone dry."_

_"__According to Hiram," Joe said, "we should just roll over like common curs and beg Mansfield to go easy on us."_

_Adam was silent for a good while, finishing his cigarette before he spoke. He flicked the butt of the cigarette onto the dirt where it glowed. "This land Mansfield bought, what does he use it for? Most of it's scrub land; not good for much which is why Pa never bought it." _

_"__Good for makin' our lives miserable! Hell, he has hired guns patrollin' where the Ponderosa meets up with his. Already shot four people—two of our hands and two strangers. Roy says he can't arrest any of them 'cause they's got the right to shoot anyone trespassin'—got signs sayin' 'Trespassers will be shot on sight.' And his men testified that they always warn people afore they shoot 'em. Been to trial once for the first man of ours they shot and damn, if charges weren't dismissed! Roy says unless they shoot someone on our property, we ain't got no case."_

_"__Well, then shouldn't you two be back home taking care of problems instead of coming all the way to Mexico to see me? And how did you find me anyway?"_

_Joe told Adam about the letter with no signature. Adam quietly listened, not even taking a sip of the mezcal._

_"__Pa early on started hinting at hiring a Pinkerton to find you—ferret you out-or come lookin' for you himself."_

_Adam said nothing, just seemed to disappear, his eyes unfocused. And then he returned._

_"__So, I suppose you're here to take me back."_

_Hoss shifted his position. "That's kinda what we was hopin'."_

_"__We're not here to take you back, but to ask if you'd come back," Joe added. He knew Adam had a tendency to resist the more pressure was applied._

_A deep sigh escaped Adam. "I don't know that I want to get back into all of that. I've found a bit of peace here—at least peace within myself. I'm tired of battles, of being in conflict with anyone. Life here is…"_

_"__Passing you by," Joe said, a tinge of anger to his words. "How can you waste your life out here? From what I see…"_

_"__Joe," Hoss said. "Ain't your business. We're here for one thing—to make sure Adam's alive and whole so's we can tell Pa.. We done that. If Adam don't wanta come back home, that's his business."_

_One of Adam's eyebrows shot up; he knew Joe was emotional, often lost his temper in a blink, but he also knew there was more to their visit than just to confirm his well-being. And Hoss was trying his best to be peacemaker. _

_"__Maybe I don't think of the Ponderosa as home anymore."_

_"__Why wouldn't you?" Joe asked. He stood up. "C'mon, Hoss. Adam's not our older brother anymore. He's no longer a Cartwright."_

_Hoss and Adam both stood as well, albeit more slowly, and Hoss put a hand on Joe's arm. _

_"__Now just settle down. Don't make this either-or. Adam's our brother no matter what."_

_Joe seemed about to either cry or fight—he could go either way. Adam recognized it. He didn't want an emotional scene. He knew he was where he was because he no longer wanted to feel anything. He wanted to forget the death and suffering that he had lived with for so long. _

_"__Look at him," Joe said, pointing at Adam. "Just look."_

_Hoss glanced at Adam who was carefully watching Joe. Hoss recognized the familiar stance. Adam was squaring off as he had so many times before but this was more emotional than physical. _

_"__He's…he looks like some…" Joe couldn't find the words. "His beard is scraggly, his hair's long and his clothes are filthy."_

_Adam waited and so did Hoss. But Joe had a point, Hoss considered. Adam had always been fastidious about his appearance. Although there were times when he went a few days without shaving, that was usually on cattle drives or lengthy trips on horseback. But he always had a regular haircut and changed into clean clothes daily when at home. And he bathed more than just Saturday nights. This man in the wrinkled, stained clothes of a native Mexican wasn't the man who Hoss had grown up with and admired for not just his brawn, but also for his brain, his sharp intelligence._

_"__I just don't recognize you, Adam. You were always the first one to help Pa—to help any of us when we needed you and now that we're being…" Joe's mind raced for the right word to express how he felt about what was happening._

_"__Plagued?" Adam offered. _

_"__Yeah," Joe agreed. "We're being plagued by Mansfield almost like a biblical plague, with all the trouble he causes. The law can't help us and our ranch hands are afraid of being shot and…hell, Adam, the logging part of our business, it's falling apart 'cause we can't move cut timber the way we used to. And now that the railway's coming through…"_

_"__What about the railroad?" Adam wanted to hear about that. He had always believed that once the railroad came near Virginia City, the place would boom._

_"__Well, now that Carson City's been declared the state capitol…"_

_"__Carson City?"_

_"__Yeah, Carson City," Hoss confirmed. "Right after you left."_

_Joe knew Adam was interested now and this information might be what they needed to lure Adam back home. Family alone didn't seem to be the right bait. "Carson City is going to be the hub for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad and the land…"_

_"__The land Mansfield bought is going to be needed by the railroad." Adam added; it was all coming together._

_"__Seems that way," Joe said. "Carson City's becoming the commercial center now. Hell, Adam, you wouldn't recognize the place. I mean we still have people coming to Virginia City but we've also had a lot of people leave and head to Carson."_

_"__It's almost 'big city' through and through," Hoss added. "The smaller homesteaders, well, they're being bought out and run off by Mansfield. And when we left, there were bids goin' out for timber to build a flume from the Sierra Nevadas right to Carson City. Pa was workin' up a bid to submit, but gettin' the timber to the destination, well, that's problematic as we'd have to go through Mansfield's property and he ain't obligin'. We need everyone we can get on our side," Hoss offered. "We need you back home, Adam."_

_"__I have work to do," Adam said, leaning down and sweeping up a hat, a smaller version of a classic sombrero. "But I'll let Carmelita know she'll have guests for dinner."_

_"__Carmelita?"_

_"__Yeah." Adam behaved as if they should already know who Carmelita was. "The woman I work for."_

_"__Oh. She got the two boys," Hoss stated._

_"__Yeah. Water your horses. There's a well on the other side of the house. As I said," Adam placed the hat on his head, "I've got work to do." _

_Hoss and Joe watched him walk away to a small lean-to which served as storage._

_"__He never said he'd come back home," Joe said._

_"__No, but he didn't say he wouldn't neither. Let's take care of our horses. I'm hungry and it'll be nice not to have canned beans again tonight." _

_Hoss left but Joe lingered, watching Adam as he disappeared into the shed. He hoped that Adam was still Adam and that the war hadn't changed him too much. Deep inside, Adam was still a Cartwright—he had to be because that was what held them together, that's who they were. Joe remembered Adam once saying that a man can't change who he is—what he is—no matter how much he tries. Joe hoped so._


	3. Chapter 3

**Three ~ In the Rain, the Muck and the Mud**

It was dawn and Hoss woke to a kick on the sole of his boot.

"What the…?" Hoss raised on one arm. Adam was standing at his feet.

"There's breakfast on the table and if you want any, best get in there before Joe wakes and fills his belly first. I told Carmelita to make sure you two had enough food and coffee but she said something about preferring to have wild pigs at the table."

Hoss sniffed the air. "Don't smell bad though. Not bad at all."

Adam gave a snort of amusement. "Tortillas and fried goat meat. As I said, best hurry. She's not too fond of feeding you two but if you chuck a few more coins her way, things'll be far more pleasant all around." Adam headed to the back.

"Adam." Adam stopped and turned. Hoss noticed his older brother still wore the same soiled shirt as yesterday, the same linen pants with dirty, unraveled hems, and the same rope slippers. "She know we're family?"

"No. If she knew I came from a family with money, well, I'm sure she'd follow us to the Ponderosa and camp on the porch with her two boys, claiming I was their father and owed her money. Now go eat."

Hoss looked over at his still-sleeping brother. Joe's mouth was slack and his breath was even. The sun wasn't yet bright enough to wake him. Hoss saw a small, file-tailed ground snake slowly winding its way across the dirt; it wasn't yet warm enough to move quickly but it was searching for early morning insects. Hoss reached out, heading off the snake and closing his fist right below its jaws. Grinning, and holding the snake firmly, Hoss quietly crept across the narrow space between him and Joe and dropped it on Joe's face.

Joe woke, gasping, knocked the snake off him and jumped up. He reached down for his gun, ready to shoot the snake, but Hoss' laughter distracted him. He turned toward Hoss who was slapping his thighs, doubled-over and laughing.

"You should've seen your face," Hoss managed to get out, pointing at Joe.

"Very funny!" Joe turned again and aimed at the snake that was still slowly maneuvering across the dirt.

"Now, don't shoot it, Joe." Hoss grabbed Joe's wrist. "Just a little ground snake. Ain't nothin' to be 'fraid of."

"You're right; I should shoot you!"

And Hoss laughed again. "Pack up your gear. Breakfast's ready. And don't 'spect to be treated like no welcome guest neither."

"Why would I expect that? No one in this country seems happy to see us except those kids and I think they'd sell us out to the devil for our boots alone."

"Greedy little buzzards, ain't they?"

"Greedy ain't the word."

~ 0 ~

Adam lifted the lid of the rough-hewn wooden chest that sat in the back of the shed. It was painted yellow with flourishes of flowers and lines in faded red paint. Since the make-shift roof of the shed leaked the few times it rained, the top of the chest was slightly warped, but inside lay the dark-blue wool uniform Adam had worn during the war. On top of the clothing sat his black felt Hardee hat, one side pinned up with an eagle pin, crossed-swords on the front. He lifted it out and shook it, slapped it in case an insect was hiding, reshaped it and placed it on his head. His breath shook as he stood upright and closed his eyes. His heart beat faster as the memories of his years of service came back. _"Yes, Captain." No, sir, Captain."_

He lifted out the officer's single-breasted frock coat. The shoulder bars of his captaincy displaying the two stars were clinging to where they had been stitched. Since Adam was immediately made a captain when he joined up, he had to buy his own uniforms and the blue coats and trousers had been quickly fitted and tailored. Three tailors worked rapidly on the officers who were primed for battle.. Adam had been informed that officers should look sharp and well-dressed, not just given an unfitted uniform like the non-coms. Officers in other armies in Europe had always had purchased tailored uniforms but for some reason, perhaps because he believed that the Union was fighting for equality for all people, it struck Adam as odd that officers were to be set apart by not only rank insignias, but by their well-tailored and expensive uniforms and their fine white shirts. But as the war went on and neared its inevitable conclusion, many officers needed to abandon their jackets due to rips, blood, and often took on any jacket from a fallen soldier. But Adam, who felt as if he would be slipping on a dead man's skin should he take a uniform off a corpse, had worn the same two uniforms and they were testament to his struggles.

Adam shook out the coat he had worn into Mexico, the other left behind in his camp trunk in Georgia. He examined it, brushing off the wool fabric. It smelled musty and there were a few tiny moth holes; he was surprised there weren't more, but overall, the coat was in good shape. He shrugged it on and buttoned it; it hung as if it was another man's, was at least a size too large now. Since the clothes he wore daily were loose, he hadn't noticed how much weight he had lost and he hadn't looked in a mirror in over two years. Adam quickly unbuttoned the coat and then noticed the long, thin darned section on the back, below the ribs, a reminder of the young Confederate soldier who was determined to kill the tall captain who led his men into the skirmish. "This coat's as stitched-up as I am."

_The enemy was only a few inches away, a man wearing a gray uniform as mud-stained as his own despite the rain that fell almost constantly over the last two days. Adam and the enemy soldier stared at each other. Around them was chaos, men falling, some men screaming in pain as they were shot, and then close behind Adam, a cannon ball hit. Dirt and clumps of grass showered down on the two men staring at each other while a horse shrieked in pain and shouts abounded. But Adam heard none of it; he just focused on the man's sky-blue eyes. Actually, Adam thought, "He's not a man—he's a boy. Maybe 15 or 16…" _

_Adam knew the Confederate army had such a lack of men by now that 14 and even a few 13-year olds had signed on. And even more than the color of the boy's eyes, the blue that reminded him of lying on his back as a child and staring up at the azure sky to watch the clouds scud across the vast expanse, was the expression in them—the intense fear._

_The boy moved indecisively. Adam knew he should shoot the boy, kill him; after all, he was the enemy. He was dressed as the enemy in a loose, worn gray uniform and armed with a farm boy's target rifle that Adam was certain the boy had brought with him; the Southern forces hadn't received new arms in over two years. Some still fought with Revolutionary muskets._

_The boy stepped closer, his eyes reflecting his terror. Adam couldn't raise his rifle to shoot—he couldn't kill a child—enemy or not. The boy wore no cap and his reddish hair had a clump of mud left from the cannon ball hitting so close to them. Adam noticed he had freckles along his cheeks and across his pug nose. His lips were white with fear._

_"__Go home, boy," Adam said to him. "Turn around and run as fast as you can. Get your ass off this battlefield while you're still able." Adam turned to join his ranks which were being pushed back. He took three steps and then he felt a sharp stab in his side, in his lower back. Adam turned to see the boy holding a Union rifle with a bayonet on the end. And Adam's own blood glistened on it. _

_Adam snorted and then gave a short laugh; he had been injured, not with the target rifle, but with a Union rifle the boy had grabbed off the ground from a fallen soldier. Adam dropped to his knees in the muck of the dirt and rain and blood. He clutched his low back and then held his hand before him; it was red with fresh blood. The rain began to wash it away._

_"__I don't wanta kill you," the boy said. "I…I coulda shot you but…" And then the boy fell backward, blood spurting from his neck where a bullet had cut passage through the vein that carried his lifeblood. A few seconds later, Adam felt a strong hand grab him under his arm and practically jerk him to his feet._

_"__You'll be okay, Cap'n. Let me help you. We're retreatin'—Colonel Mansfield's orders." And Adam managed to painfully lope along beside the soldier. It was another half a day riding in the back of a wagon alongside other wounded before they arrived at the hospital tent. By the time they did, two of the wounded had died and Adam knew he was running a raging fever. By the time he was treated by a medic, his wound cleaned and stitched without benefit of anesthesia, Adam had lost a great deal of blood; he found himself slipping in and out of time, from light to darkness, from looming death to life again. And he could see jut the tail end of the long, white scar with the stitches like railroad ties. _

_After the war, when Adam arrived in Mexico and ridden up to Carmelita's to offer his services in exchange for room and board, after he had adopted the same everyday clothing of a rough, homespun tunic and loose trousers and slippers, she had stitched close the bayonet slit in the blue wool before he buried it along with the rest of his Union uniform, in the old wooden chest._

Adam pulled out the navy-blue trousers with the gold stripe running along the outside seam and then the dark vest and white shirt with the banded collar. In the very bottom were his long underwear and his issued black boots. He lifted the pair out last; he noticed they needed polishing and he remembered how in the evenings when things were quiet, he would sit in the camp and polish his boots. But they had sat in the chest with dried mud on the toes and heels for more than two years.

He pulled out a leather kit bag and unzipped it, taking out a razor, a strop and small mirror. He had used the items the first two weeks when he had slept in the make-shift barn. After that, Carmelita had welcomed him to her bed and he placed the mess kit in the trunk with all the other reminders of war and closed the lid, removing all of it from his mind. But sometimes at night he would be jarred awake by dreams that took him back to the battlefield where he fought young boys, once even Joe wearing the small cap of a Confederate. And the dreams seemed even worse than reality had been.

Adam propped the small mirror on a rail outside the shed, angling it so that he could see his face, and using an old rusty knife, he held out his beard by sections and sawed at it, letting the hair fall to the ground and be blown away. When the length was less than an inch, he washed his face and rubbed a crudely-made bar of soap over the stubble to work up a lather. He ran the razor over the strop until the edge gleamed and then shaved. His cheeks and chin were far paler than the rest of his face once they had been revealed, but Adam knew that soon, within a few weeks, he'd be brown again.

Adam pulled out a tin washtub and lined up three buckets of water. Standing in the tub, he poured one bucket over himself and then, working quickly, washed his hair and body. It had been so long since he had washed all of himself that he smiled; such a small pleasure, washing. He sighed in the hedonistic but wasteful use of the precious water. He used the other two buckets to rinse. He stepped out of the wash tub and into his flat slippers and stood exposed to the sun to dry.

Hoss and Joe stepped out of the house and stood looking about.

"You'd think she'd be insulted you gave her money," Joe said.

"She shoulda paid me. Them two boys watched every bite I took like I was puttin' on some show."

Joe giggled. "Must be the closest they've come to a carnival sideshow."

"Yeah, and all she fed us was what was scraped offa that fry pan she used last night. I think we might stop by that…café or what Adam was sayin' passes as a rest'rant. Food can't be no worse." Hoss stretched, enjoying the brief coolness before the sun took over. "Ground here seemed harder last night than any other place. And look at this." Hoss pushed up his left sleeve to reveal tiny red spots that had been scratched open. "Ants. The done bit me last night while I was sleepin' Now the bites're oozin'."

"Shame," Joe said. "Real shame, Hoss." Joe shook his head in feigned sympathy.

"Thanks for feelin' bad for me," Hoss said. "Tonight, I hope they find you more tasty. Well, we need to be headin' out. At least we got good news for Pa. He'll be glad to know Adam's okay. And maybe later, after a while, he'll come home. Where is he?"

Both brothers looked around. "He said he drives the goats out to pasture on occasion; maybe that's where he is. Think I should go ask Carmelita?" Hoss just raised his brows at Joe. "Yeah…right. Let's go saddle up our horses. We may have to leave without sayin' goodbye to Adam."

The brothers headed to the back of the house and out to the shed. They paused at the sight of Adam standing completely naked in the sunlight, water glistening off his skin. They glanced at each other.

"Well, at least he shaved," Joe said and the two walked toward Adam who grinned.

"You in the habit of prancing around in the all an' all?" Hoss asked. "You showin' off what you got?"

Adam chuckled. "Just drying off before I dress. I can't ride for days wearing these…" He gestured to the slippers on his feet, "or the rest of the clothes. I still have my uniform. I'm wearing it—at least part of it."

"Does that mean you're coming with us?" Joe asked, his hopes rising.

"Yeah. I'm coming with you. I don't particularly want to but I guess I don't belong here anymore. I thought I'd found…doesn't matter. I'll dress and saddle my horse and then we can leave."

"Does, um…does 'she' know?" Hoss asked, tilting his head toward the house.

"Yeah, I told her this morning. She didn't take it too well." Adam chose not to reveal how Carmelita had tried to slap him, cursed at him, said she wished he would fall off his horse and break his neck, that ants would eat out his eyes and vultures would feast on his privates. The two boys had just sat on their pallets and watched, their eyes still crusty from sleep and their thick black hair sticking up like porcupine quills.

But as he had told Hoss and Joe, Adam knew he was basically just a hired man; there was no love between him and Carmelita; she just hated the fact that now she would have to find someone else to help her. And although her boys had come to appreciate Adam's ability to teach them many things about taking care of animals, they hadn't quite warmed up to this "gringo". They remained wary of him although the oldest boy appreciated the metal insignias Adam had given him, had run off to the village and sold them for freshly fried, sugared pastry which he ate in secret behind the restaurant. If he took them home, he would have to share with his baby brother and his mother. Maybe even with the man who had come to help his mother and caused her to make those noises behind the sagging curtain at night.

"Okay. We'll water our horses and then saddle-up. I guess we'll be leavin' then," Hoss asked more than said.

"And none too soon," Joe added. "We're runnin' out of money to placate Carmelita. She's one angry woman. I don't suppose that scar there is from her comin' after you with a kitchen knife."

Adam laughed. "No, but don't think she hasn't waved a cleaver around a few times and threatened to emasculate me." Adam stepped into his blue trousers.

"Knowin' you, you probably deserved it!"

"If you have any money," Adam asked, hating to be a supplicant. "I'd like to leave her something."

"Sure, Adam. Hoss dug into his pocket and pulled out a small purse. He took out a few silver coins and handed them to Adam. "Twelve dollars do it?"

"She may have to kiss you on the mouth for this," Adam said, grinning.

"Now, Adam," Hoss said, "you know I'd never steal your woman." The brothers smiled.

~ 0 ~

Hoss and Joe were saddled up and waiting for Adam. He walked out of the adobe hut.

"I'll be a minute. Have to…say goodbye."

Hoss and Joe exchanged glances; Adam had just said goodbye. But they watched as he walked off and stood in front of a spot a few yards off from the house. He held his hat in his hands and stood in silence. Then he walked back to his brothers and took his horse's reins.

"Someone buried back there?" Hoss asked.

"My daughter."

"A daughter?" Joe asked.

"Her name was Milagros—Miracle. But she lived barely two hours. Not much of a miracle in that."

Hoss bowed his head; he felt bad for his older brother, hadn't known anything really about Adam's years away. "I'm sorry, Adam."

"Me too, Adam. I…" Joe didn't know what to say about the death of a child—his niece. "I'm sorry I never saw her."

Adam said nothing, just mounted up and turned his horse's head toward home.


	4. Chapter 4

**I forgot to say this early on but all guest reviews will be removed; unfortunately, I have had bad experiences with "guest" reviewers. **

**Four ~ Siesta Time**

As the three brothers rode through Miseria, Adam stopped to buy mezcal from an old man with a face like a walnut, sitting in the town square under a shabby canopy, his bottles lined up beside him. Hoss and Joe looked at each other.

"I need some money. How much can you spare?"

"Adam, I…what you want to buy that stuff for?" Hoss was confused. Adam was asking for money to buy the rot-gut mezcal.

"You gonna give me the money or not?" Adam asked, the only response he gave.

"Yeah. Here." Hoss turned and leaned back to open one of his saddle bags and pulled out a knotted sock full of coins. He untied it and stuck in his big hand, taking out a few coins. He looking about to see if anyone was watching; he didn't want to be waylaid a few miles further out. The streets were basically empty except for an old woman who sat dozing in the shade and a dog who had finally finished barking at them and slipped back under a porch. Leaning down, Hoss gave the handful of money to Adam who paid the old man. The old man said nothing, just put out a gnarled, wrinkled brown hand for the coins and nodded as Adam picked up four bottles and put them in his Army saddlebags. They too had been tossed in the corner of the shed along with the saddle and bridle. Earlier that morning, as he had handled them, he shook his head; the tack was in dire need of saddle soap but he had none; it was a shame to see their condition and what effect neglect had on things – even people. When saddling his horse, Adam found he needed to doubled up on saddle blankets, pulling an old moth-eaten wool blanket off a high shelf in the barn. The dapple horse had lost weight just as its owner had and the saddle didn't sit properly. Adam had placed the multi-colored woven blanket over the deep blue saddle blanket with its double row of gold lines to prevent sores.

After they left Miseria behind, Adam didn't look back, but Hoss wondered how his brother felt about leaving Carmelita and her two boys. The children had followed Hoss out into the yard and silently watched while he saddled his horse, standing and looking at him with their large, soulful eyes. Hoss felt the same as he did when an animal waited in silence for any kindness from him.

"Now I done give you two enough pennies, your momma too, Now you just git." But the boys stood and only stared in mute sadness. "Okay…here. I guess I can part with this…" Hoss handed them each two pennies. The boys closed their hands about their treasures "Now, go back inside and…well, do whatever you do durin' the day." Hoss turned back to his horse but he felt a slight tug on his pants leg. It was the smallest boy and when Hoss turned, the child raised both his arms, one hand still firmly enclosing the pennies, and stood on tip-toe. "What the…" Hoss stared and then reached down and picked up the child. The boy put both arms about Hoss' neck and tucked his small head beneath Hoss' chin. The child stank like a wet dog but Hoss considered that he himself probably smelled worse. After a few seconds, Hoss put the child back down and found himself overcome with emotion. He swallowed hard. "Now you two go on. Don't make me throw rocks at you to scare you off. Git. Vamanos. Vete!" The boys turned and scampered away into the shadowy darkness of the house. And Hoss checked his pockets. "Be just like them cunnin', little buzzards for one to steal my money whiles the other's distractin' me." But he still had all his money and had nothing else of importance to lose except a bit of his heart.

After the brothers had ridden for three weeks, Adam was on his last bottle of mezcal, only drinking at night before pulling up one of the horse blankets to sleep. Each sunrise they rose scratching, having been bitten by something overnight. One morning Joe found a scorpion in his blankets. He tossed the blankets, scrambled up, and hollered. Hoss laughed, slapping his thigh and telling Joe he screamed like a little girl whose pigtail was being yanked. Adam had merely walked over and with the toe of one black boot, pushed the scorpion off the blanket and then negligently crushed it with its threatening, curved tail, under his boot heel. Then he went to make coffee.

But despite the uneventfulness of the journey back to Nevada, Hoss and Joe were uneasy. Other than needing a haircut and being so thin, Adam, the sleeves rolled up on his white shirt to expose his arms, and wearing the military trousers and boots, looked like the brother they had last seen in the fall of 1863.

"But you notice he barely talks," Joe added as he and Hoss set up camp for the night. Adam had gone to a wide creek a few yards away to fill the canteens and the coffee pot.

"Adam never did talk much 'bout silly things but what bothers me is he ain't really asked much about Pa other than learnin' he was in good health. Here we are, almost home, and he don't seem too interested in findin' out more about the problems we been facin' either."

"Maybe he doesn't care. But if he doesn't, why do you think he's coming home at all? I mean I can't say he had the good life back there in Mexico, but he seemed, oh, I don't know, at peace in a way," Joe said.

"Yeah, well, bein' half-drunk all the time'll do that. Makes a man remarkably mellow. Sides, you know how Adam is when he drinks. Most men get loud and some get mean when they's had too much, but that Adam, he just gets quieter and quieter. I never wanted to poke him when he got like that."

"Yeah, but he never drank much before, least not often – just a beer or a shot of whiskey usually, but this drinking every night… Shhh! He's coming."

Adam approached with the canteens and dropped them by a tree. The horses were cropping grass, loosely tethered, and the saddles lay on the ground in a circle about the fire, like headstones marking where the men would lay for the night.

"What's for dinner?" Adam asked Hoss.

"We got some of that bread left we bought yesterday in Pico, and some fresh bacon. Thought we'd fry the bread in the bacon grease and have ourselves a feast seein' as how we'll be back on the Ponderosa tomorrow."

"And I suppose, we'll have a late breakfast, early lunch at the house," Adam said, crouching before the fire Hoss had built up and placing the old, dented coffee pot on the flames. It had been used in one of the chuck wagons years ago but now that more and more cattle were being shipped by rail, cattle drives were only for moving the beeves to a close slaughter house; with more people coming to the area, there was more demand for meat, especially beef cuts.

"Should work out that way, we get an early enough start. Joe, whyn't you slice some of that bacon for us—nice, thin slices so's they'll be extra crispy."

Dinner was eaten in silence and after the tin plates and utensils had been washed clean in the creek and the coffee drunk, the three snapped out their bedding and settled down for the night. But before sleep came, Joe spoke up into the night sky.

"Adam?"

"What." Adam was struggling to get comfortable, pulling the saddle about until his neck and head rested comfortably.

"Seems to me that you've changed some."

"Could be. It's hard to say."

"Let me ask you something. Back there at Carmelita's when she didn't want to feed Hoss and me, and grabbed that knife, you twisted her arm. I thought she expected you to hit her because once she dropped that knife, she kinda cringed. You ever hit her, Adam?"

"Once—early on. The bitch bit me on the shoulder—not a love bite in the midst of passion either. She bit me and held on like a dog holds onto a wild pig. I don't even remember why she was mad but she was always angry about something anyway. She was swinging at me and trying to claw my face, my eyes, whatever she could reach. I held her wrists and all she could do then was bite me, so she did – right on the shoulder. Broke the skin too and got a mouthful of my blood. I backhanded her and she fell on the mattress and let out a string of curse words. I didn't know enough Spanish yet to understand but suffice it to say, her meaning was clear and I slept outside the rest of the night and a few nights after; I didn't want to be woken with her grinning face over me and a knife in my chest. The bite puffed-up and festered and I had to slice it open and drain it. I've never had to hit her again—didn't really like doing it the first time but I have to say, it gave me a sense of satisfaction."

"Adam," Hoss said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Not like you to do that. You never hit a woman before. Never."

Adam sighed. "Maybe I never had reason before. Let me tell you something-I've done so many things I thought I'd never do, that I don't know what I'm capable of anymore. I've concluded that ideals are just mirages and morals and ethics are conveniences that not everyone can afford. The world has changed and I find I have a hard time saying what's right and what's wrong anymore. It all depends on the situation and where you stand." And he rolled over on his side, pulled his jacket up about his ears, folded his arms in front of him, and was soon asleep.

~ 0 ~

Adam, clutching a whiskey bottle's neck, stood in the middle of the bedroom, that he had occupied on the Ponderosa ever since he was 15 and the 2nd floor was added. He was sure that the crude architectural drawings he had shown to his father, illustrating the second-floor expansion were still somewhere in his desk as other than dusting, the room was unchanged; it was only he who was different.

The final construction of his idea had sealed Adam's determination to become an architect. He still remembered standing outside on that cold day, his father's arm draped about his shoulders, and gazing at their new home that was as fluid and graceful as a woman. Adam had experienced such a mix of emotions – pride, gratitude and love; his father had believed in him and his vision and had brought it to reality.

Walking to the desk, Adam saw the scrolls of paper that were projects he had created for college assignments, some practical and some for magnificent citadels and buildings, edifices that would never be built. But Adam had never made use of his college education to pursue a career as an architect. Oh, he designed functional buildings and a few elegant facades for the squarely-built structures in town but his dream was to one day build a fine home for him and his bride but that never came to fruition. He started a house once, had the foundation laid and the grand fireplace that was to be the centerpiece, but the marriage never happened and the house was never finished. Some of the wood and much of the river rock used for creating the fireplace had been cannibalized for other projects. There was little left but rubble to show where Adam had almost built his dream.

He walked over to the mirror above the washbasin; he considered that he needed a haircut as the black hair streaked with strands of gray, fell past his shoulders. Tomorrow he would go into town and get a haircut and shave, but first, he'd stop at the bank to withdraw some money before looking around Virginia City to see the changes. According to Hoss and Joe, so many people had come and gone that Adam would be hard-put to find anyone who knew him other than Roy Coffee and Clem Foster. Dr. Martin was now married, Joe had said – a pretty, young widow. It seemed that despite his best efforts, Doc Martin had been unable to save her husband from the influenza.

"You sure he wanted to?" Adam had asked as they rode along.

Joe looked at Hoss. "Well," Hoss said, "I thought of that but…I mean mebbe a few others did as well, but Ol' Doc wouldn't do that."

And Adam had just snorted.

If no one In Virginia City remembered him, that was fine with Adam. Hop Sing, smiling has brought out the bowls and platters of cold roast beef, fried potatoes, green bean salad and fresh sourdough bread for lunch. Adam escaped the further attentions of his father and Hop Sing by begging off from second servings and dessert. He precluded any further discussion of what he had done and where he had been for close to three years, by saying he was tired. He had lived in Mexico for so long, Adam said, that a daily siesta was now ingrained and he desperately needed a nap. Adam excused himself and before heading up the two flights of stairs to his old room, grabbed a glass and bottle of whiskey off the liquor cart; he knew that although Hoss and Joe had busied themselves with eating while he answered his father's questions, his brothers would fill in the details of what they knew about his life in Miseria as they ate large slices of Hop Sing's rhubarb pie.

Earlier Hop Sing had insisted on taking his few belongings upstairs and his saddlebags now sat on the braided rug. He had also opened the two windows and the light curtains fluttered as a cross-breeze cleared out any stale air.

Sitting on the edge of the familiar bed, Adam pulled off his boots, the whiskey bottle and glass on the night stand. He noted that he had to buy ranch boots in town. And a new trail coat as his old chamois-colored suede trail coat had been abandoned when he had joined-up; he couldn't work the Ponderosa or anywhere else in his army uniform. Adam lay back on the soft bed, looking at the familiar ceiling with its decorative swirls that he had so often stared at as an adolescent. He smiled, remembering his repeated fantasy about a beautiful, faceless woman with large breasts begging him to please her. All of it felt familiar to his bones. Here he was, he considered, right back where he was close to five years ago. And except for a few scars, nothing physically had changed. He wasn't like the soldiers who had returned home on crutches after losing a leg or a foot. Or those who wore a jacket with an empty sleeve or a patch covering an empty eye socket. Or those who went home in a coffin or who never went home because they died on an unknown battlefield.

Adam knew he was lucky and yet he felt an inescapable sadness. Perhaps it was his guilt over being so fortunate while others hadn't. He didn't know and didn't care to analyze his feelings too deeply; that would be like poking his tongue against a sore tooth. He closed his eyes and wished he had a bottle of mezcal or at least Carmelita's continual angry haranguing to help him escape the thoughts that now plagued him but he had none of it. The room was quiet except for a few birdcalls that floated in on the breeze. He considered finding his own place so that he could just sit and drink himself into a stupor and not have to think at all. The last thing he wanted to do was throw himself back into life which he had so fervently tried to escape. And he wondered if he had made a mistake in returning to the Ponderosa. But he told himself, if he had made a mistake, he would pack up a few things and move on. The world was a big place and a man could easily become lost in it – or lost to himself.

He reached for the whiskey bottle and the glass and poured himself two fingers. "Here's to you, Adam Cartwright – whoever you are."

~ 0 ~

"Well, at least he's home." Ben Cartwright told Hoss and Joe before he relaxed into his chair. He felt such peace knowing that Adam was just upstairs, napping; Adam was home at last. Having his son away at war, waiting every day for any news and yet fearing what news a letter may hold, was now gone for good. He could now live without the wartime dread that he had lived with for so long and it made him feel he could finally stop struggling.

After the war had ended, Ben expected Adam to come riding up. Each day he woke with renewed hope and each night he went to bed disappointed. And then, a letter from Adam arrived and Ben, barely able to contain his eagerness, ripped it open expecting to read that Adam was on his way home. But it didn't say that and Ben again felt his heart heavy as lead.

_Dear Father,_

_I'm sure that you have been waiting for a letter from your eldest since the war ended. This, it pains me to say, is probably the letter you've anticipated but I'm sure it doesn't contain the news you expected._

_Since Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, there has been much jubilation among the troops and civilians. I cannot celebrate in kind. It isn't that I am not happy about the ending of hostilities but so many people have suffered, so many have died, and so much has been destroyed—such horrid destruction abounds—that all I can feel is sadness at the overwhelming loss of human life. I wonder for what I have fought. _

_Yes, the Union has been restored but it has been accomplished through brute force and murder and obliteration of the enemy. Yes, I use those words because I have participated in the total destruction of homes, crops, railroad lines and the slaughter of hundreds of men along with some women and children as well; their deaths are what is referred to as "unintended" but intended or not, they are still dead. _

_I could go on about the immorality of war,pronounce that people are the same no matter what uniform they wear or the color of their skin or hair but I don't want this to turn into a platform of all the atrocities I have seen and experienced. What I need to tell you, the reason for this letter ~ other than to let you know that I am alive and thankfully whole ~ is that I shall not be home for quite some time, if at all. I have a "disease" of a type for which I must find the cure myself. It is a sickness of the soul and I must heal from within._

_I send my love to you and my brothers; I miss all of you but I cannot inflict my bitterness, the darkness I carry within me, on those I love. Therefore, do not expect me home. Whether I eventually wend my way back to the Ponderosa, I cannot say._

_Your most loving and devoted son,_

_Adam_

And now Adam was home and Ben was determined to keep him there. He smoked his pipe absentmindedly. The warm, slightly sweet Turkish tobacco filled his lungs with a type of comfort. During the war, many items had been difficult to secure and foreign tobacco was one of those. Actually, tobacco in general, since most of it was brought in to the eastern ports and then shipped to the west. Rarely did any of those ships find it profitable to go around Cape Horn to sail to the port of San Francisco. For a short time, New Orleans served as the port for the many ships carrying Irish whiskey along with Napoleon brandy. They also carried many other niceties of life, luxuries that many in the east had taken for granted. Those in the southwest hadn't taken much for granted at all since it cost so much to send goods out that far, but now that the railroad was expanding, prices had dropped slightly. The westerners knew that the price would jump again once the railroad went through and then, when more rails provided competition, the price would again drop. But luxuries were to be taxed at a higher rate now so Ben and others enjoyed what they could get, and for Ben, his Turkish pipe tobacco was one of them.

A gentle smile came over Ben's face and tears started again as he remembered Hop Sing running in from outside, still holding the half-filled basket of eggs and saying, "Three riders, Mistah Ben! Three riders coming, one riding paint pony. You go look! Hop Sing fix big lunch for three sons today." Hop Sing grinned at the prospect of having one more person to cook for, one more person to enjoy his expanding recipes and anticipating Mistah Ben's joy at Adam's return; Hop Sing was certain of the third rider.

And Ben had rushed out, scanning the property and off in the distance, he saw three riders approaching, one on a paint just as Hop Sing had said. As the riders came closer, Ben stopped breathing, waiting. Yes, his sons were arriving – all three of them. And when they had pulled up in the yard and Adam dismounted, Ben stood looking, unable to move so Adam came to him.

"I'm home, Pa."

Ben slowly reached out and held on to Adam's arms, gazing into the beloved face of his firstborn. Ben had so many things to say to him but could say nothing, just pulled Adam into his arms and they held on to one another and Ben, for the first time since his wife, Marie, had died, sobbed. But this time, it was because his son who had been lost had been found again.

The warm air and his emotional exhaustion, caused Ben to become drowsy; it was unlike him to sleep in the middle of the day but now, a comforting heaviness fell upon his bones and urged him to slip away as there was nothing to fear or drag him back into the mire of an uneasy mind. So, Ben allowed himself to give in to sleep, the bowl of his pipe resting in the ashtray, the smoke from the glowing embers of the expensive tobacco, eventually dissipating.


	5. Chapter 5

**This is a long chapter - just letting you know it's over 4,000 words. If you read it, I hope you find it worth your time.**

**Five—Home-made Remedies**

"I swear," Hoss said as he sat shirtless in the kitchen, "them damn ants made a beeline to me no matter where we bedded down. They musta passed over Joe and Adam and headed straight to me. Bit me all night. I'd check where I was puttin' my bedroll, shake it out and check it close ever' night, but they still got in there somehow…check my head too, would'ja Hop Sing? I been itchin' and Adam said I might have lice." Hoss scratched his head; it felt like he his head was "swarmin' with them critters."

_Hoss knew that Adam's poker-faced comment about picking up lice from Carmelita's two boys was insincere, but the idea was planted in his fertile imagination, so Hoss' scalp itched constantly as if he was crawling with the things. They had all been sitting about the campfire, Hoss scratching his head with both hands. "Check my head, Adam," Hoss had requested. "See if I got those lice."_

_"__I'm not touching your head," Adam said. "I'm not getting your lice on me."_

_"__Joe, check me, will ya?" _

_"__No!" Joe moved away, glancing at Adam._

_"__And make sure," Adam said, winking at Joe, "that you check your crotch—I noticed you've been scratching your balls more than usual too. Maybe those lice 've crawled down there while you've been sleeping. Wanted something juicier to bite." _

_Joe giggled and the fact that Adam was tormenting Hoss made him feel that "Ol' Adam" wasn't so much of a stranger anymore. Given more time, Adam may soon be the person he was before he joined up with the army. Adam just had to be given more time. At least Joe hoped so._

Hop Sing smeared his home-made concoction on Hoss' back and arms. "What is that stuff?" Hoss asked. "Smells like you're picklin' me."

"Hop Sing remedy from when you small boy. Honey and cider vinegar." Hoss touched the substance on his skin and put it on his tongue.

"Don't taste none too bad, Hop Sing. Tastes like what you done give us for coughs."

"Hoss not eat. Medicine."

"Dang, but I'm hungry, Hop Sing."

"You let dry. Go room and put all over places with bites. Then sit. You take bath before supper and put more on after if still itch. Take out poison from bites. Two day, maybe three, no itch at all and all bumps gone. Now, you bend head and Hop Sing look."

Hop Sing parted Hoss' hair with his fingers, checking different places and looking for the small, glassy eggs. He pushed Hoss' head forward and ruffled the hair at the nape. "No lice on head," Hop Sing said.

Hoss wanly smiled. "Thanks, Hop Sing." Hoss would check his crotch himself but he couldn't help but smile at the picture of him sitting on the kitchen stool in the all in all, running his fingers over his privates looking for "critters".

The Chinese cook nodded and placed a damp rag over the bowl to keep the mixture from drying out. He placed it on the counter and returned to his work after washing the sticky substance off his hands.

"Since I gotta sit here for a while to let this stuff dry, it'd be nice iffen I could have a little somethin' to eat—maybe a few of them cookies? I got to tell you, Hop Sing, I ain't had any decent food since I left here. I'd really like a little somethin' sweet." Hoss tried to look pathetic but he didn't have to go far since he sat covered with the glossy paste. He had also dropped quite a few pounds on the trip to and from Mexico.

"Not spoil appetite. Hop Sing make roast pig and cake for Mistah Adam return home."

"Dang, Hop Sing! I know that. It's smellin' that roast pig, almost tastin' that crispy skin, that's drivin' my stomach wild. And I can smell that cake too!" Hoss took in a deep breath and closed his eyes in appreciation. The sweet smell of vanilla filled his nostrils and he could almost taste the first bite of the sweet cake and its sticky, boiled icing. "Smells better'n a French whore's perfume!"

"Four cookie! Four!" Hop Sing held up four fingers.

"Yes, sir, Hop Sing. Four." Hoss walked over to the cookie jar and making sure that Hop Sing wasn't looking, he slipped a handful of cookies in a pants pocket and then made a show of counting out four of the crisp butter cookies. Hop Sing watched approvingly. "Gonna get myself a glass of milk now and then go enjoy these." Hoss held up the four cookies. He poured himself a tall glass of the foamy, creamy milk and then, smiling, he slipped out of the kitchen.

Hop Sing smiled while he peeled the potatoes and tossed them into a large steel pot. "Mistah Hoss think him fool Hop Sing. This person raise him. This person know more cookies hidden in pocket." Secretly, Hop Sing was pleased. Had Hoss not wanted more than his allowed amount of the cookies, Hop Sing would have been heart-broken. And he was glad that the boys were back, all three of them, and he happily went about preparing the homecoming meal for Adam.

~ 0 ~

The dinner was as close to a celebration the family had had since Adam left. Despite the birthday parties and the few dances, there had never been a moment of pure celebration. Although Adam tried his best to muster enthusiasm, as he looked around the beautifully set table, the bottle of expensive champagne and the partially carved roast pig on the sideboard, he was amazed at the plenty before him; he didn't know what he had expected, but then he hadn't considered it.

Adam's father and Hop Sing had gone all out and the table was draped in the fine linen tablecloth with the lace overlay used only for guests. The crystal goblets and wine flutes were sparkling in the light from the chandelier over the table. One of Joe's mother's fine china bowls was piled high with green beans cooked with chunks of fatback for flavoring, and there were golden biscuits and butter, a mountain of mashed potatoes with a gravy boat filled with pork gravy made from the residual grease and the small pieces of flesh that had stuck to the bottom of the roasting pan.

"Well," Adam said, "I'm glad I dressed for dinner; the governor coming?"

"Don't you 'member what a celebration looks like, Adam?" Hoss asked.

"I guess not. Well, let's sit and eat." They sat and Adam reached for a biscuit but noticed his family and Hop Sing were waiting, staring at him. Adam sat back. His father clasped his hands in prayer and bowed his head while Hoss and Joe did as well. Hop Sing folded his hands, one on the other, and bowed his head. Adam followed suit. It had been so long since he had prayed that it seemed almost a foreign custom.

"Dear Lord," Ben Cartwright said, "we thank you for the food we eat and ask that you bless the hands that prepared it as well as those who are about to enjoy the food. May we always be able to nourish our bodies as well as our souls and pray for those who are in need, that they be fed as well. And we thank you, dear God in heaven, for returning Adam to us. In Jesus' name, Amen."

"Okay," Hoss said, "let's eat!" He reached out with the meat fork, skewering at least four or five slices and holding his plate with the other hand, slid them on.

"Hoss, what's that stink?" Joe asked, smiling, as he passed the gravy to his father.

"Very funny," Hoss said. "iffen you'd been bit like me, you'd've taken a bath in the stuff."

"Guess those ants just like marbled meat," Joe said. He looked at Adam who grinned back.

Hop Sing stood by the table, waiting, while Adam helped himself to slices of roast pig and the sides.

"You take more," Hop Sing said, urging Adam on. "Hop Sing make special." It seemed to Adam that everyone was waiting for him to taste the food.

Hoss said, "I'll take more, Hop Sing. S'prised you ain't eatin' more, Adam, after them beans and goat meat you been eatin'…" Hoss flushed with embarrassment and sat back. "I got enough, thanks, Hop Sing."

Silence fell over the table. Ben stopped eating, his forkful of food hanging in the air.

Adam spoke. "Thank you, Hop Sing – maybe some more of those green beans. Been a long time since I've had green beans." Adam took another spoonful and looked about. He knew why everyone had fallen silent; they were unsure how Adam would take Hoss' comment. "I left the hunk of fatback for you, Hoss, knowing it's your favorite."

"Thanks, Adam," Hoss said, grimly smiling, and the others began to eat as well.

Adam forced himself to eat; he really didn't have much of an appetite. And with Hoss bringing up Carmelita in a round-about manner, Adam suddenly wondered what Carmelita and her sons would do at this table filled with food. The boys would more than likely snatch up as much as they could and holding the bounty in their loose shirt fronts, scramble away from the table and eat voraciously, licking the grease off their fingers. Suddenly he felt guilty about Carmelita's boys; he considered possibly sending them money for their care. But it would never reach them, probably being opened by some postal worker along the route. A bank draft couldn't be cashed as there was no bank in Miseria – or any postal service.

He owed Carmelita nothing but guilt still hung on him. He had worked for her and taken care of her place and received nothing in return but poor food and sharing her sagging mattress at night. She did seem to enjoy the time they spent between the sheets but Adam never kissed her nor did they exchange endearments. They rarely even said each other's names; they fulfilled each other's basic hungers and that was it. The words from Hamlet ran through his mind the first time he lay with Carmelita on her soiled sheets: _Nay, but to live in the rank sweat of an enseamèd bed, stewed in corruption, honeying and making love over the nasty sty!_

Adam had ridden through the small village of Miseria and stopped at the café for a meal and a bottle of wine. As he walked back out into the sun, holding the bottle, he heard and saw a woman arguing with a man and woman who ran a stall where they sold rice, beans, tortillas and slices of meat served up in cheap clay bowls; people would sit under their canopy and eat, and when they finished, they handed back the bowls which were dropped into a bucket filled with greasy water to be used again after being wiped dry with rags.

The arguing woman was thin and angular with a hard face and she cursed worse than most men Adam had known. A small boy awkwardly held an infant who wailed in the heat of the hot afternoon. The man waved a haunch of the beast she was trying to sell, He claimed the meat was old, maggot infested, and wouldn't pay her price; he used his thick finger to push aside some skin and Adam saw the white maggots squirming. By the size of the haunch, Adam considered it was sheep or goat. He listened and with his little Spanish, he understood the man declaring he would not be cheated and wasn't going to pay more than the peso he had given her as he would have to chop off all the rotten sections and there wouldn't be much meat left.

The wine was bitter but Adam drank it anyway. He stood in the heat and thought about traveling down to South America, maybe Brazil or Bolivia. He had read about those countries, knew they had been romanticized, but he wanted to see that part of the continent. But he never traveled further than that little village.

Adam found himself wanting to intervene in the argument between the woman with the two children and the squat vendor on principle alone. He considered pulling his gun from his military holster and sticking it in the vendor's face, but their argument wasn't his business and she was no damsel in distress. The woman stank, he could smell her rank odor where he stood, and her dress was filthy and the meat she tried to pass off on him was rotten. She reached into the basket and slammed a large leg of goat on his counter. Then asked for more money. The vendor turned the meat about in his hands, consulted his wife who examined the piece and then nodded, taking the meat to the back of the stall where she proceeded to cut it up for cooking. The man reached into his apron pocket and gave her three more pesos. She only snorted and then, putting the empty basket on the ground, took the wailing baby and walked away toward the far end of town. The older boy picked up the basket and followed her, scampering to keep up with her long stride.

Adam wondered if she had a husband or a man to help her with the animals she obviously raised, so guiding his horse with one hand and drinking the bottle of wine while he rode, he followed her path to a little adobe house. He asked her in his broken Spanish, if she needed anyone to help about; he would work for food and a place to sleep. The woman, who said her name was Carmelita, stared at him in his uniform. She agreed to feed him and let him sleep in the shed if he would help her with her goats and chickens that scoured the dirt and grass for insects. She then turned her back on Adam and closed the door.

Initially, he made repairs around the place had been neglected for some time, but soon lost interest; no matter what he repaired, it fell apart in short time or the boys destroyed it. He repaired the fence, the older boy amused himself by pulling it down. There was no money for plaster to repair the chinks and holes in the house so they lived with it. In the face of hopelessness, Adam invested his time in taking care of the goats, seeing they were fed, bred and properly slaughtered and butchered. Carmelita milked them. Adam took the fresh goat meat into town to sell on market day along with the day's goat milk. He became comfortable where he was and realized how seductive the heat and general somnolence of the life in Mexico was. Adam became resigned and lost all desire to move on.

As Adam ate the grand dinner at the Ponderosa, he considered again what he had always known. Life was not fair and there would always be those who would have more than others, whether that was food, money, health or other thing people valued. And he considered how fortunate yet fickle, the accident of birth was. So, he ate and basked in the warmth of the Ponderosa and his family's love; after all, everything could be taken away from a man in the wink of a jealous god's eye.

~ 0 ~

"Adam, before you turn in, can't you sit and talk awhile longer? Your brothers have turned in and it's been a long time since you and I…well, Joe told me a few things you shared but apparently, you didn't tell him very much."

Adam stood with one hand on the newel post. "Pa, so much has happened that I couldn't…there's no way I can tell you all that's happened."

"Then let me tell you what has been going on here. Please, son, sit for a while."

Although Adam wanted to escape to the privacy of his room, he turned. "All right." He felt he owed it to his father. "But Hoss and Joe filled me in about Mansfield." The urge to tell his father about his connection with Mansfield, however tenuous it was, seemed to choke him. But Adam chose to just swallow the information. The time would come later.

Adam sat down in the familiar chair that had always been considered his. It was a high-backed wing chair of a plush blue fabric akin to velvet. His head had worn an area in the back years ago as well as a depression in the seat cushion. As he ran his hands along the arms, Adam felt as if he was in a mother's embrace, warm and familiar and oh, so comforting.

"It's good to see you home, son. I've sat here opposite that chair so many nights and hoped you'd soon be sitting there—and now you are. I can't tell you…" Ben felt tears welling in his eyes. This wasn't what he wanted, to cry again, but he had prayed for this moment so many times-mornings, nights and it seemed almost every waking moment of his life and now Adam was home.

Adam noticed his father trying to control his emotions so he sat forward, resting his elbows on the arms and clasped his hands. "Pa, I owe you an explanation as to why I stayed away. Wait, that's wrong. I didn't 'stay away", I just needed more time before I returned to… Life is different now and I…"

"Adam, I'm not asking for an explanation and you don't owe me one." He swallowed deeply. "How about a brandy?"

Knowing that the partially full whiskey bottle waited for him upstairs, he replied with a small lie, "Thank you. That might help me sleep." Adam waited, silently staring at his hands and noticed how much darker his hands were from his wrists and lower arms. The wrist-length sleeves on the tunics he had worn for the past few years had kept his arms from the sun and his hands looked ten years older than the rest of him. But now with the sleeves rolled-up on the clean shirt he had changed into after his bath, he was more aware of the dichotomy of just a few weeks ago and now. Change was abrupt. He had been there in Mexico and now was here. One moment one could be alive, breathing, feeling the blood surge through the veins, and the next moment, be dead.

Ben handed Adam his glass and then sat down in his chair opposite his son.

"There are cigars in the humidor, good cigars from Cuba. They're becoming as valuable an import as sugar—and costs far more. Better than the cigars from Virginia. Help yourself to one."

Ben concentrated on packing his pipe but he surreptitiously watched while Adam rested his glass on the coffee table and helped himself to a cigar. Despite the cutter on the table, Adam bit off the end and spat it into the fire. He lit up and after the first puff, relaxed into the chair with his brandy. The warmth of both eased him into relaxation.

"Before I talk about our issues on the Ponderosa, Joe told me about your daughter, my granddaughter. I'm sorry about her passing. He said her name was Miracle. I suppose it was difficult for you…and her mother. Carmelita, was it?"

"Yes." Adam was tempted to tell his father that it hadn't seemed that difficult at all. It seemed that grief was now a foreign emotion and he didn't seem capable of it anymore; he was numb. He even doubted if he was capable of love. He seemed to exist in a shell where nothing could penetrate. But he didn't relate that to his father. Nor did Adam tell his father how his small daughter, Milagro, had been born, from the looks of her, early. She was thin and her skin was like paper. She barely made any noise and her small thin legs were constantly drawn up. Carmelita had tried to nurse the child but she either couldn't or wouldn't suck. Adam had dipped his little finger in goat's milk and put it drop by drop on the infant's tongue but it would just roll back out again. He sat up with her for two days while she struggled to breathe, trying desperately to get the child to take sustenance but there must have been more wrong than just an early birth. In a few more hours, Adam knew the baby would be dead and because Carmelita refused to go, Adam carried the infant wrapped in a serape, a basket of fresh eggs over his arm, to the small village church. The padre prayed and blessed the child with holy water, making the sign of the cross while Christening her. As thanks, Adam gave the priest the basket of eggs. He carried the child back to the house but she died before he reached it. So, wrapping the serape more closely about the body, he buried his daughter not far from the house. Two days later, Adam put the hand-carved cross he had made at the head of the small mound of dirt and stones to mark the spot. Then he went back to his chair behind the little house, kicked it back and drank.

As to his father's condolence, the only response Adam gave his father was "Thank you."

Ben knew Adam well enough to recognize the end of a conversation; he had wanted to ask Adam if he would like Carmelita to come there and live but he knew the answer. If Adam had wanted Carmelita and her boys there, he would have brought her. So, Ben decided to talk about Mansfield and how he had practically surrounded one side of the Ponderosa with his property. There were only a few ways now to leave the Ponderosa for Carson City, all of them circuitous. The way to Virginia City was still clear but narrowed. Ben didn't know for how long though. "Mansfield's tightening a tourniquet around us, choking us."

"Why steal cattle though?" Adam asked. "That land's not good for grazing and Hoss said he's not a rancher."

"I think it's just to torment me. Everything he does seems to be to aggravate the already hostile situation."

Adam smiled slightly. He had just poured himself another glass of brandy and swirled it in the glass, admiring the dark gold color. "Mansfield sounds clever and I wouldn't be surprised if he's hoping you'll sell if he makes your life miserable enough. My guess is he knew about the railroad expansion before most people in this area did, where the line for the Virginia &Truckee Railroad was going to be and bought up the land for two reasons; to prevent or stall the Ponderosa from getting the milled timber to the sites and to sell or lease the land to the railroad coming through. If Mansfield's bought timberland in the mountains, he'll have the advantage over the Ponderosa. Hoss told me about the flume that's being built." Mansfield had been an excellent tactician, that Adam knew. But even the best can have flaws due to hubris. And although Adam was sure Mansfield had powerful friends, he wondered who had let him in on the information before shares went public.

"Yes, by the Carson-Tahoe Lumber and Fluming Company. There's a planing mill and box factory in Carson City owned by them and a loop line of the railroad we have now serves it. They're providing wood for mines as well. Adam, we're being squeezed out; Colonel Mansfield seems to be fighting a war."

"So big business is taking over Nevada; this isn't the only place in the country, Pa. Hoss told me that the small ranchers are all squeezed out now and that only a few of the bigger ones—such as us—still exist. And while I was bathing, I read the back issues of the newspapers in the washhouse. The railroad's going to be the only way to travel shortly; no more stage coaches."

"But if things keep going this way, I don't know for how long we'll exist. I need your help, Adam. We all do."

"Pa, I don't know what you expect me to do? Go find and shoot Mansfield?"

"Don't be ridiculous! That's not it at all."

"Pa. You're going to have to change with the times. Things are so different now. The whole country has changed. And I've no interest in powering my way through co-bidders to win bids for bridges or flumes or such since you can't deliver timber to the mines that aren't yours, you need to find another market for the timber or invest money elsewhere like…oil. According to what I read…" Adam noticed his father seemed hurt for some reason. A silence fell.

"Seems as if you have exempted yourself, Adam. You said 'you' instead of 'we'. Does that mean you're not staying, not going to help us recover what's rightfully ours?"

"What is it that you want to recover? Exactly."

"Why, the ability to travel freely to Carson City without going the long way around, to live without the fear of being shot just by stepping over our property line onto Mansfield's, and to be able to get out timber to the railroad site. There's no way now, the way things stand, that I can put in what might be the lowest bid and still make money on the deal. We're washed up as far as timbering as long as things stay the way they are and now that most cattle are shipped by rail, well, that's becoming more difficult as well."

"And what do you hope to do about it? I told you, things are changing; you can't cling to how things used to be done. Mansfield has legally purchased the land, and granted, he probably had an insider's knowledge about the flume and the railroad, but there's nothing you can do about it. We still have timber on the mountainside, right? We used to have our own flume to float the timber down. We can still do that and then maybe even reach an amicable agreement with the…what did you say it was?"

"The Carson-Tahoe Lumber & Fluming Company."

"Why don't you go talk to them? I'll go with you later, maybe day after tomorrow." Adam pushed his hair behind his ears. "I need a haircut, and to buy some things in town." Adam stood up. "I really need to get to bed. I'm about to fall asleep on my feet." Standing up, Adam finished his drink and when placing the empty glass on the low table, he noticed his guitar where he had last placed it—off to the back, beside the chair. Some things didn't change at all and he could see Hop Sing dusting it and then gently placing the instrument back in its spot. But Adam left it sitting where it was and said nothing.

"Goodnight then" Ben said. He was disappointed. His hope was that Adam would be righteously angry and would propose facing Mansfield and his men in a non-violent confrontation, but heavily armed just in case. But Adam seemed to want nothing to do with anything involving a conflict.

"Goodnight, Pa." Adam started up the stairs.

"Adam," Ben said and his son turned to him. "Sampson's not the barber here anymore. He went back to Missouri after the war. Fifteen years here and then he ups and moves to Missouri. Doubt you'll recognize too many people in town anymore—or they you."

"That's fine with me, Pa." Adam went up the stairs and Ben heard his son's footfalls on the floor above his head.

Ben sat back down and looked at the brandy in his glass. He hadn't said everything he wanted to Adam but hopefully, there would be more time. He hoped Adam would stay for good; this land was his as well as his brothers. Ben recognized that Adam was carrying a burden of some type and wanted to help his son. But Adam wasn't Hoss or Joe and after all this time, Ben still didn't know how to reach him. Now, if Hop Sing only had a home remedy for that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: This chapter has many historical incidents and inventions. Abe Curry did sell his hotel to be used as prison in Carson City and what happened as far as the fire and rebuilding is also historically accurate as well as finally having a cold beer. **

**Six ~ Good for What Ails You **

The price of a haircut and a shave was now 4 bits but the barber said, as way of consolation, "The witch hazel is no charge." Adam reluctantly paid, remarked that rolling papers and tobacco had cost him the same amount. Adam thought back to when he and Hoss were boys and Hop Sing's haircuts using a bowl as his guide. Adam put on the new black hat manufactured by a company named Stetson; he had ridden to town bare-headed, having left his Hardee hat in his room. Adam had been impressed by the Stetson's construction, worked it and was tempted to pop up the middle and put a crease down the center as he had his Hardee hat but resisted. Instead, while in the mercantile, he added a silver-studded leather hatband for a dollar more along with the smoking paraphernalia for another half dollar.

Adam looked in the barber shop mirror but not in admiration. His lower face was still paler than his upper cheeks and forehead and the bluish sheen left by the close shave stood out even more. He pulled off the hat and again rolled the edges. It would take a while for the felt to keep the shape he desired.

Having ridden a working horse from the Ponderosa into town, Adam first went to the bank where the teller didn't recognize him and was unsure about Adam's request for $300.00. To the teller, this man hardly seemed a member of the Cartwright family and he carried a gun strapped to his thigh. People rarely walked around town with guns anymore except for Sheriff Coffee and Deputy Foster; everyone else left their guns and rifles at home and on Saturday nights, Sheriff Coffee had the visiting ranch hands turn in their guns to avoid drunken arguments settled with a six-gun.

"You say you're Adam Cartwright?" The teller eyed him suspiciously from behind his barred cage. He looked at the other teller who just shrugged his shoulders. "I…you have some identification or anything?"

"No. Just my word that I am who I am." Adam smiled; he knew that with his long hair, being unshaven, and wearing an old, worn jacket of his father's that hung oddly on him, he looked disreputable.

"Okay, Mr. Cartwright…um…please wait just a moment."

Adam nodded, smiled and slid his hands inside the jacket's pockets and waited while the young man left, glancing back at the customer once more before he disappeared in the manager's office. Adam looked about the bank. Not much had changed except for the paint. But the safe looked new, now that he studied it.

Adam looked toward the sound of a door opening. Mr. Huffman, the bank manager, came out and after quickly scrutinizing the stranger before him, suddenly smiled and approached with one hand out to shake Adam's hand. "Good to see you back, Adam, so good. Every time your father would come in to see me, I'd ask about you. He must be happy you're finally home!"

"Yes, yes, he is. It's good to see you too, Mr. Huffman. How's the family?" Social niceties were expected.

"They're well, Adam. Marigold is still unwed, in case that's why you're asking. I'll tell her you're back home. We'll have to have you over for dinner some night."

Adam smiled but remained noncommittal about the invitation. "Business good?"

"It could always be better," Mr. Huffman said, smiling broadly. "There'll be no problem fulfilling your request. By the way, we don't print our own money anymore; there's a mint now in Carson City printing it out, so don't think it's counterfeit!" Mr. Huffman laughed at his joke. "It's good to see you back, Adam.

"Now, Olson, give Adam Cartwright here a new signature card. You'll have no more problems—I promise."

So, with money in his pocket, Adam walked over to the mercantile, ticking off in his mind what he needed to buy. He had forgotten how wonderful it was to be flush with money—and how guilty it made him feel.

~ 0 ~

As Adam walked down the wooden sidewalk, tipping his Stetson to women he passed, he found he recognized no one and no one recognized him; he was a stranger among strangers. And then he heard his name called by a familiar voice. He turned and slowly smiled—it was Roy Coffee.

The familiar face of Sheriff Coffee warmed Adam's heart and then, when he saw how much the man he had admired for so long had aged just as his father had, it gave him pause. He took the Sheriff's large hand in his and the two shook heartily. The sheriff even put one hand on Adam's shoulder, and gazed as he would at a long-lost son.

"I knew Hoss and Joe were lookin' to find you but I didn't know they had. Welcome home, Adam. It's good to see you, boy. I don't suppose you came to Virginia City to visit."

"It's good to see you too, Roy. No, I've only been home one day; needed a haircut, bought a new hat, jacket and wanted new boots." Roy looked down at Adam's boots, noting they were still military issue. "The mercantile didn't have a pair I liked; may have to go to Carson City for them or order them. I planned to stop by the office to see you before I left town."

"Well, come on with me now, sit for a bit and have a cup of coffee. I just finished my rounds and could use some more to brace me for the rest of the day."

Adam smiled, surprising himself by how pleased he was to see Roy Coffee. "Virginia City hasn't become a hotbed for crime, has it?"

"No, but it's not the same place anymore. Let's walk and talk. The war changed a lot of things, a lot of people. Some people like Mr. Denning-you remember him, don't you? Had that green grocers?" Adam nodded. "Well, his son took off to fight for the Confederacy and Denning hung out a Confederate flag. Was arrested along with quite a few people until they learned to keep their alliances to themselves. Confederate sympathizers like Denning were locked up in Fort Churchill. Things during wartime caused some people to move away 'cause they were afraid when martial law was enacted around here. It was something to see armed soldiers patrolling the streets; they even confiscated guns. Why I thought even my job would be eliminated but I was allowed to keep my sidearm. It was a bad time but things are more or less normal again." They had reached the office doors. "C'mon in, son. I already got a pot on the stove." Roy Coffee held the door open, glad to see Adam whole and well. If he was this happy to see Adam, Roy could only imagine Ben's joy.

Adam sat in the office across from Roy, a mug of hot coffee in his hands, the chair kicked back on its rear legs. The fire in the stove was going out after taking the chill off the air and the day was turning into a breezy day in spring. The new suede jacket he bought would be overly warm in a few days, only being needed in the early mornings and after sunset.

"Like I said, that Colonel Mansfield holds strategic property and your pa, he can't stand it. I think he's kickin' himself every day for not buying it earlier but it's just scrub, was good for nothin' until now with the railroad comin' through and Carson City bein' the state capitol. Why there's even a prison there now…did you know that?"

"No," Adam replied. "When did this happen?"

"Let's see…musta been about 1862." Adam stopped drinking, engrossed. "That hotel in Carson City, the Warm Springs Hotel? Remember that?' Adam nodded. "Well, that became a prison – filled up really quickly too, but Abe Curry who owned it, he was making money hand over fist by leasing it to the government.

"Burned down just last year but the prisoners were put to work rebuilding it—they built their own prison cells—imagine that. Now it's mainly stone—barely any wood. There's that quarry near it. Remember? Well, those prisoners had to quarry the stones for it and then build it; they also built the Nevada State Capitol as well."

Adam leaned back. "What type of prisoners are held there?"

"Oh, all kinds. Other prisons send theirs to Carson City who are to be executed 'cause that's where they do it anymore. And I guess that's why they have a sittin' judge there."

"Judge Wolfe."

"Yeah, Judge Wolfe. He deigns to travel here once a week" Roy said, a tinge of disdain to his voice, "sits court from 10:00 in the mornin' 'til 3:00 in the afternoon every Tuesday. Everything else, Troy Shannon does as Justice of the Peace—you know, the small fines and disputes among people. He decides days in jail and such. Seems that in another year, there's going to be another judge appointed as well in Carson City; it's gettin' as large as Sacramento City or even San Francisco."

"Looks as if Virginia City's getting smaller," Adam said. The mug of coffee warmed his hands as he felt a chill but not from the cold; prisons and executions weighed on him, not that he felt that some men didn't deserve to die for their crimes, but he also felt many men were unfairly judged and summarily dispatched.

_"__But, Colonel, he was just weary after the battle and the losses…all the men are demoralized. He just wanted to go home. It's understandable that…"_

_"__What's your name, Captain."_

_Snapping to attention, Adam said, "Captain Cartwright, sir."_

_"__Is private Osteen from your regiment or not?"_

_"__Yes, sir, he is." _

_"__Good. Assign some men to shoot him for desertion." _

_"__But, sir, even President Lincoln prefers imprisonment for deserters rather than shooting them. To kill one of our own men…"_

_"__How many men out of your original 100 do you have left, Captain? That is, minus Osteen."_

_"__78, sir."_

_"__78\. You can't afford to lose anymore and neither can I. Desertion won't be tolerated"_

_"__But, sir, I think that shooting him when…". _

_"__Would you rather hang him?"_

_"__No, sir."_

_"__Then you have your orders, don't you, Captain?" And Colonel Mansfield walked away._

"Seems it is. Not as many new shingles hung out and once Paul leaves, I don't know we'll even have a doctor anymore. Hope we will but the way things are going…well, Mayor Baxter, he's trying to promote how close we are to Carson City; a person could work there and live here since it costs more to live in the capital."

Adam chuckled and then sitting forward and putting all four legs of his chair flat, finished his coffee. He stood up. "Thanks, Roy. The whole country's changing; Virginia City's changing like everything else—it's to be expected."

Roy Coffee stood as well and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm havin' trouble with it, Adam. I am. Must be 'cause I'm just old. Seems like you've changed a mite though; you've dropped a bit of weight and seem a lot more peaceable. Guess fighting for so long'll do it to a man."

Adam smiled. "Yeah, that'll do it."

"Tell your pa hello for me, Adam."

"I will. Come by for dinner some time," Adam said and shaking Roy's hand again, walked out into the sunshine. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scents around him, of horses and leather and fresh baked bread from the little bakery down the street. "That's progress - store-bought bread. Just like back east."

The sounds were the same though; the jangling of the horse harnesses as the wagons moved mainly to McCauley's Feed and Grain, the pounding from the blacksmith's shop and livery…life went on, and it would have, Adam considered, even if he had died in the mud of a bloody battle field. And with that thought, Adam walked to The Sazerac.

Pushing through the swinging doors. Adam looked about; it hadn't changed, only the people had. He didn't recognize the bartender, a man in his 40's who wore a clean white shirt, sleeve garters and a canvas apron. Adam went to the bar and put one foot on the rail. "Beer."

Without a word, the bartender pulled a bottle and mug from a large, metal box with a door, and placed the mug in front of Adam, opened it and then poured the beer from a brown-tinted bottle.

"Well, this is new…and what the hell is that?" Adam asked as he put coins on the bar and pulled out the rolling papers and tobacco.

"Nifty, ain't it?' the bartender said, smiling and looking at the box. "Called an ice box. Man from Carson City, Newman's his name, sold it to us; has an ice house. He also brings cases of bottled beer made by some German in Milwaukee that's shipped in double-walled cars. He comes by with fresh ice and beer every day; packs it in sawdust and somehow that keeps the ice cold. There's a trough in the bottom of that box that catches the water. He says one day, they'll be big enough to keep all sorts of things cold. Maybe soon, he said, ever'body'll have one in their homes keepin; all sorts of food cold. Claims he'll be a millionaire then."

"I don't doubt it," Adam said, gripping the cold glass handle and taking his first sip of a cold beer.

"Good for what ails you, ain't it?"

"Among other things," Adam said. "That's damn good."

"Yeah. In the middle of summer, I'll probably crawl in there myself to keep cool." Adam chuckled as he finished rolling his cigarette. He pulled a match from a shot glass holding them and striking it on the side of the bar, lit up. "You passin' through?" the bartender asked. It was early in the day and the only other customer was an old man playing cards with the bored barmaid. A little conversation would be nice.

"No," Adam said. "My family's here and I came home."

"For a visit or to stay?" The man wiped the bar with a rag although the only mess was a slight water ring from the beer mug.

Adam was disinclined to answer but he figured he may as well appear gregarious; he was in a saloon. "I haven't decided yet." He downed the remainder of his beer, grinned at the bartender and said, "Thanks for the beer," and walked out with his cigarette. He stood on the sidewalk. He needed something and as he gazed down the street, he knew just what it was. He tossed his cigarette in the street, mounted his horse and rode down to the most notorious part of Virginia City, the outskirts where respectable women and men never trod.

Although it was barely past noon, scantily clad women stood on the balconies of the various brothels and called out to him as he rode by; a few even pulled open their wraps to tempt him with their breasts but Adam rode by them, gazing up at the display of female flesh. He knew where he was going and what he wanted; a certain woman.

He dismounted and tied his horse to a brass hitching post. The familiar brothel, the best one in Virginia City, hadn't really changed and as he came closer to the double doors, he grinned. The same inlaid stained-glass panels of nude women were in the doors, one showing repairs where an angry wife had tossed a stone years ago. He pushed open the door on the right and stepped into a dim foyer lined with sconces that were lit in the evenings. A young woman came forward from the parlor. She paused, trying to see him in the low light and then smiled. "Can I help you, mister?"

"Is Maeve here?"

"No. Sorry, mister. She died 'bout two years ago. Some drunk miner beat the shit outta her and she died. Doc said it was from a ruptured…well, I can't remember exactly, but it was somethin' inside a person that was busted open in her. Odell grabbed that sonovabitch and pulled him down the stairs by one ankle, and the man's head hit every step hard; he died before he could be even tried. Business was bad for a while after all that."

Adam sighed. "I'm sorry about Maeve." In the past, Adam had often asked for Maeve, depending on his mood; she always understood what he needed. The young woman standing before him was in her late 20's, full-breasted with round thighs. "Are you busy?" Adam asked. There was no use grieving over Maeve, but she always knew when to talk to him and when not to as they lay together after the act. Once, Maeve had mentioned quitting the business and finding another way to earn money. While slipping on his boots, Adam off-handedly suggested she marry some customer who was fond of her. Maeve, running a hand up his back, asked if "it might could be you?" Adam never mentioned it again. He was fond of Maeve – she was pretty and clean and he enjoyed it when they were together, but he didn't want to marry her.

A large man stepped out of the parlor and looked Adam over, the "peacekeeper", Odell, but stepped back into the parlor. Five other women, all dressed the same way in corsets, rolled-up stockings and short pantaloons, peeked out from the parlor. A large, blowsy woman smiled knowingly.

One of the other women said, "Not much business right now. All of us are free." She thrust out one hip, resting her hand on it and smiled. "We can give you a special price."

"Just one is all I need," Adam said, and beckoning to the woman who had first approached him, he said, "You'll do fine." He took her wrist and together they climbed the stairs. She pointed out her small room facing the back.

Once inside, the woman said, "I'm Louanne. What's your name, mister?" Adam sat on the side of the bed and began to remove his boots. She pulled her chemise over her head.

"Does it matter?" he asked, dropping a boot and then working off the other.

"Not really. Those army boots? Saw a pair like that once on a man who lost an arm in the war—said it was chopped off to keep from spreadin' gangrene. Said that woulda killed him but he missed his arm. Said he still felt like he had it sometimes and used to try to reach for somethin' with it. Made things kinda problematic far as visitin' here but we managed. I'm always…"

"Louanne," Adam said, turning to look at her, "I'll throw in an extra two dollars if you'll just shut up."

He dropped the other boot and stood up and began to work his trouser buttons.

"Just makin' conversation. Makes things a little more friendly." The dark-haired man said nothing so she shrugged, went to the bed and lay down still wearing her soft lambskin boots; many men liked them, liked to fondle them as well as her calves and since the boots had such thin soles, they were only for show; they had cost her quite a bit. She watched as he stepped out of his trousers. When he turned, she reached out and ran one finger up the inside of his thigh. Looking up at him she said, "What d'you want?"

Adam knew Louanne wouldn't understand if he said he wanted to wallow in pure carnality, to lose himself in unadulterated sensation. So, all he said was, "Just for you to be quiet."


	7. Chapter 7

**A regiment is led by a colonel and is composed of 1,000 men divided into 10 companies of 100 men each. A company is led by a captain.**

**Seven ~ Burdian's Ass**

"I've been thinking about it, Pa, ever since that cold beer. Refrigeration is the next step way out here; it might be a good idea to invest in it. These double-walled railcars keep beer packed in ice cold; other items could also be kept cold, or at least cool enough to make the trip out west. Back east, they use these compression pumps to…"

Ben Cartwright barely listened, his cheek resting on a raised hand as he shredded the piece of angel food cake with the fork. With the spoonful of strawberry preserves on top, it was creating a bloody-looking mess. He was pleased Adam showed enthusiasm for investing money, but was disappointed his eldest's enthusiasm wasn't for preserving and improving the Ponderosa.

"Wait, Adam," Joe said, "I don't understand how double-walls have anything to do with keeping things cool?"

"That's the insulation, the air between them is sucked out to make a vacuum, you know, like a water pump does only instead of water, it's the air that's pulled out. It's like I said that time about double-pane windows, how they would work better to keep the heat out of the house in the summer and cooler in the winter. But there might be a better material to put between the walls of a railcar to provide better insulation. I've been going over in my head…"

The knocker sounded on the front door, demanding their attention. Ben placed his fork on the dessert plate, looking up. "Now who could that be?"

Hoss looked about the table but no one else moved. "I guess I'm answerin' the door," he said, tossing his napkin beside his plate. It was Sheriff Coffee and two men, one in a well-tailored suit and a derby, and carrying an attaché case. The other wore a military dress uniform. His long, dark blue jacket had a double row of 12 brass buttons in three sets of two down each side and gold embroidery decorated the sleeve cuffs. His Hardee hat was adorned with an eagle plume and gold-tasseled epaulets broadened his shoulders. At his waist was a gold sash tied under his belt.

"Is everybody to home?" Roy Coffee asked, crooking his neck to look inside the door. He didn't smile and seemed uneasy.

"Sure, Roy-even Hop Sing's home. Come on in." Hoss ushered Roy and the two guests inside. The rest of the Cartwrights left the table, Adam, reluctantly. The twowell-dressed strangers remained silent.

"Well," Ben said, feeling awkward and wondering why Roy had brought the men, "are you going to introduce us?"

"Oh, of course. Ben, this is…" Roy started to introduce the men but was cut off.

"I'm Lew Kelley and this is General Armbruster. Nice to meet you, Mr. Cartwright." Ben shook hands with Kelley but the general didn't offer his gloved hand. Ben's sons stood off, not proffering their hands, Hoss and Joe merely nodding when Ben introduced them.

"Please, come sit down." Ben ushered the men in. Roy sat at the far end of the settee and the two men sat beside him. They removed their hats, placing them on their laps, and Kelley put his attaché at his feet. "How about some coffee? Roy? Mr. Kelley? General? Or perhaps some of my best brandy?" Ben smiled although he was sure the General's presence was due to Adam. It worried him, but hospitality was expected and it never hurt to be gracious.

"How about a little coffee with a big dollop of brandy?" Roy said, smiling as he took off his hat. "Always a good combination." The two men said nothing but General Armbruster stared at Adam; he seemed to know who he was.

Ben told Hop Sing who was removing the dinner dishes slowly so he could hear the conversation, to bring out coffee for all. Then Ben went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of cognac. "Now, this is a wonderful brandy from France. Courvoisier. Heard it was Napoléon's favorite." He placed it on the table and sat in his favorite chair.

Hoss stood, hands in pockets, waiting and Joe sat on the corner of the low square table in front of the fire. Adam had yet to sit, leaning with one elbow on the mantle. He didn't know why the general was there but decided he wasn't going to stay around to find out.

"Well," Adam said, nodding to the guests, "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go upstairs. Goodnight." He noticed the man called Kelley, quickly looked at the general who stood up straight, having placed his plumed hat on the low table.

"Captain Cartwright, do you not know protocol when a higher-ranking officer is in your presence? Atten-hut, soldier!"

Adam felt his body start to respond, it was so ingrained. His shoulders strove to pull back, lengthening his spine, arms at his sides, his gaze straight ahead, his chin at a sharp angle. But he stopped himself.

"You can kiss my ass, General."

The general strode quickly to Adam and faced him. "You could be taken out and shot for such gross insubordination!"

Ben tried to intervene, rising quickly and approaching the two of them. "Now, General, this is the Ponderosa, our home. You can't expect Adam…" Adam and the general locked eyes; Ben knew that being on the Ponderosa meant nothing – these were not ordinary visitors. "I mean, I don't know that…"

Mr. Kelley also rose. "Mr. Cartwright, could we discuss our business – in private please?" Hoss and Joe shuffled nervously, looking at one another.

Hop Sing carried in a tray holding a silver coffee set with enough cups and saucers stacked on it for everyone. He sat it on the low table, looking about. He noticed the air was full of tension. He mumbled under his breath as he returned to the kitchen, looking back once.

The general had stepped back but his anger was obvious. Adam slowly released his breath; he tried to control himself by crossing his arms across his chest but he couldn't keep his jaw muscles from working.

"We would like to talk to you, Mr. Cartwright, and Captain Cartwright alone." Lew Kelley spoke to Joe and Hoss in an ingratiating manner. "If you don't mind, gentlemen."

"I mind," Adam said. "State your business first and then I'll decide if I'm going to stay."

"Adam, I…" Ben said. "Hoss, Joe, see what you can do outside."

Joe looked flustered. "Outside? Pa. it's dark and…."

"Let's go, Joe." Hoss grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him toward the door, grabbing up their holsters and slapping Joe's hat on his head before he pushed him out the door. Hoss grabbed his own hat off the rack and looking back, locked eyes with Adam. Hoss nodded to him and left the house.

Joe was furious. "We've just been thrown out of our own goddamn house! Who does that jackass Kelly think he is? And that general? Giving orders to Adam and…"

"Joe, Joe…settle down, boy. I don't know what they want but iffen they don't want us around, then piss on 'im. Let's saddle-up and go to town."

Joe's demeanor changed at the prospect. "Now that's a good idea but we'll have to ask permission to go back in our own house to fetch our money."

"I got a wallet full of cash and enough jingle in my pockets to keep them barmaids happy all night catchin' quarters. I bet I get at least six or seven down the front of Josie's dress." Hoss slung one large arm across Joe's shoulders, and as they were almost to the barn, they heard the kitchen door slam and the loud incomprehensible cursing of Hop Sing as he stomped across the yard.

"What's the fuss about, Hop Sing? Why you carryin'-on like a wet hen?"

"Yeah" Joe said, "what's got you so hot under the collar?"

"Humph! Humph! Humph! Mistah Ben, him tell me leave while men talk. Hop Sing in kitchen and hear that man, that Mistah Kelley. Him say…domestics…him call Hop Sing domestic. What is domestic?"

Hoss stumbled. "Well, Hop Sing, I guess a domestic is…"

"A domestic is someone who works in a house. You know, like a housekeeper or a maid or…a cook like you," Joe offered.

"It not bad?" Hop Sing asked, his eyes narrow.

"No, it's not bad. Now what'd he say after we left?"

"That Mistah Kelley, him say Hop Sing have to leave house, that domestics, they hear everything in house—they sneak around and listen. Then Mistah Ben, him come in and tell me leave house until Mistah Kelley, that man in fancy clothes, and Sheriff Roy finish business. Humph! Hop Sing want to wash dishes, clean kitchen but have to leave! Humph!"

"That's a real shame, Hop Sing. Guess you won't be able to hear what they say neither. Me and Joe's goin' to town. Wanna come with us? Might be a fantan game goin' on in the back of number six cousin's shop. I'll even stake you $10.00."

Hop Sing grinned from ear to ear. "Hop Sing like go to town. Visit number six cousin, maybe." Hop Sing, Joe and Hoss turned when they heard the front door open and close; Roy Coffee stood on the porch, frowning.

"Guess they kicked out Roy's ass too," Joe said, giggling. "Think he'll want to come with us? We have to be better company than those two he rode in with."

Hoss shook his head and chuckled, going in the barn to saddle up. "After you, Hop Sing," Joe said with an exaggerated flourish, and smiling, followed the domestic inside.

~ 0 ~

"Who the hell do you think you are kicking everyone out of the house? Just state what you want and leave?"

"Sit down, Captain," Kelley said.

"I don't much feel like sitting; that would suggest that I'm in for a long conversation. I'm also not a captain anymore."

"I'm Agent Lew Kelley, a Treasury agent." Kelley pulled out a thin, bi-fold wallet that held his identification. Adam studied it carefully before he handed it back but said nothing. General Armbruster had sat back down, still glaring at Adam. The coffee and brandy remained untouched.

"First, Mr. Cartwright, we checked your military background and you have clearance so we're allowing you to stay. But remember, this is an official investigation and is not to leave this room." Kelley looked at Adam who still stood. "The Treasury is investigating the possibility of stolen Confederate gold."

"What do I have to do with all this?" Adam asked. Then he laughed. "You don't think I have it?"

Agent Kelley and Armbruster exchanged glances. "No, no we don't. We have our suspicions as to who has it—have had for over a year but we, that is President Grant and Mr. Spinner, the Treasurer, have appointed me to find the gold and return it to the U.S. Treasury. I've been investigating and found that you were a captain in the Union Army and since you're in this area…"

Suddenly Adam knew. "You goddamn son-of-a-bitch. You wrote the 'anonymous' letter to my father about where I was. It was no army deserter."

"I didn't personally write it, but it was easier to have your family bring you back than for us to extradite you; Mexico had adopted a rather hostile attitude toward the United States as far as extradition. Now that the war is over, we suspect many military deserters are there but we were only interested in you."

Ben felt as if his world was collapsing and he was being buried underneath the ruins; had they come to take Adam away? His mind was running too slow, burdened by his own worry to follow the conversation.

"I've been exchanging telegrams with my superiors for the past three days, double checking your military record. You received many commendations, Captain. You should be proud." Adam said nothing. "I also interviewed Sheriff Coffee. I saw you visit his office the other day. You two seemed to be friendly. He vouched for you as honest and law-abiding, an 'upstanding young man' is how he put it."

"So you've been following me?"

"Of course."

"And Roy vouched for me." Adam was amused. Over the three years since the war ended, he had become a lazy, shiftless drunk. "Well, Mr. Kelley, you have the wrong man for whatever it is you have in mind. Find someone else to do your dirty work. Goodnight." Adam turned to leave.

Agent Kelley stood up again. "Captain Cartwright, you don't quite understand. It's is an order from the High Command that you work with us. It's not a request."

Adam faced Agent Kelley and General Armbruster whose expression had changed from smoldering fury to smugness; he had caught his quarry. "I'm not a captain anymore. I'm a civilian and finished with taking orders – from anyone." Adam's pulse thrummed; he hadn't been called "Captain" in such a long time and suddenly felt the full weight of his captaincy again. He knew he would have no choice but to do as they say, but he would hazard a bluff.

"That's not quite accurate, Captain," General Armbruster said. "You were never officially discharged. Actually, you're nothing more than a deserter, left your command after Appomattox. You're being impressed into active service again."

"And what if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have to arrest you. You'll be tried before a military tribunal and there's a very good chance, actually a promise, that you'll hang."

"Then hang me. Or maybe I'll save the military the trouble and do it myself." Adam started to move toward the stairs but Agent Kelley stopped him again.

"You should at least listen to what we have to say, Captain. I want to report I gave you every chance to comply before we had to take you into custody—or the General shoots you as a deserter right where you stand."

Ben stood up, harshly protesting. "Now wait a minute! You can't…I won't allow…"

"Pa, sit down." Adam's voice held authority and Ben meekly sat down; this was all beyond him and he suddenly felt very old. "All right," Adam said, "I'll listen. And then I'll refuse."

Agent Kelley unbuckled his attaché and pulled out a folder, placing it on the table. "This is a dossier on one retired Colonel Jarvis Mansfield—a brave man who led his regiment into many battles and survived. As you know, that's quite the accomplishment. You were a captain in his regiment, correct?"

Adam looked at his father who was obviously confused, then back to Kelley. "Yes."

"He owns quite a bit of acreage adjacent to the Ponderosa. Have you seen him?"

"No," Adam brusquely replied.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him?"

"More than likely."

"Well, we think it's he who has the 'appropriated' gold. Where he has it, is the issue as we have checked all the banks…"

A whirring buzz in Adam's head drowned out Agent Kelley's voice. He saw the man's mouth move but heard nothing.

_"__What is this, Captain? And where did this…this…."_

_"__Buckboard, sir."_

_"__I know what a goddamn buckboard is, Captain, but this one is filled with farm equipment. Are you taking up farming in your free time?" The colonel partially pulled back a canvas that covered the items. "Since when do we confiscate… what is this…a plow, a shovel, hammer and a few sacks of grain…"_

_"__It's the gold shipment you sent me after, sir."_

_"__The gold? Our intelligence said it was arriving by train."_

_"__Yes, sir, but that made no sense to me. We've been stopping trains for weeks now, Sherman's destroyed miles of track, so I deduced it would make more sense and have a greater chance of being successful to transport the gold by another means, more than likely disguised as something else. Especially if the information about it coming by train was intentionally leaked."_

_"__You deduced. Who the hell do you think you are, Captain, to 'deduce'. Let me understand: you just decided on your own to intercept wagons instead of following my orders."_

_"__My orders were to seize the gold, sir, and I did so." _

_Colonel Mansfield stared at the captain before him. Seemed he had had some doings with the man before. There was something about the eyes…but there were so many men in his regiment, many he'd never seen and would never see. Mansfield pulled the canvas further back and a small trunk sat with its brass hinges intact. The lock had already been broken. "You counted it?"_

_"__No, sir. Just confirmed that it was the gold." Adam stood solemnly by the wagon. Lying next to the trunk was the corpse of one of the three men who had accompanied him, Sergeant Aloysius Rowe. _

_"__Well, old Jeff Davis was counting on this gold and I 'deduce' he'll be disappointed." The Colonel chuckled and then looked at the body. "Was he a good man?"_

_"__Yes, Colonel, he was."_

_"__You kill who shot him?"_

_"__We had no choice, sir."_

_"__You seem regretful, Captain."_

_"__Yes, sir. I take no pleasure in killing a man." _

_"__Not even stinking Johnny Rebs?"_

_Adam paused. The two men driving the wagon had been dressed as ordinary farmers but there was something about their eyes, the way their gaze slid away from him and to each other. One man seemed extremely nervous; sweat rolled down the sides of his face. Adam gave the order for two of his men to search the wagon and that was when a rifle and a side arm were pulled and Sergeant Rowe was shot. And the two southerners as well. Adam had taken the time to bury them: "We won't leave them to be torn apart by animals. They may be the enemy but they're still men."_

_"__No, sir. Not even 'stinking Johnny Rebs'." Adam couldn't keep the edge of disdain from his voice._

_"__Captain, soldiers have no room for sympathy. Your job is to follow orders. Your job is to kill the enemy—as many as you can while managing to stay alive yourself. Now, have two men bring the gold to my tent. I'll see to its destination." Mansfield smiled as he gazed at the trunk. "Heard Jeff Davis wanted the gold to take to Cedar Key, leaving the Confederacy high and dry. And take this wagon to the quartermaster; I'm sure he can use it and the two horses as well. They're thin but we can use them. Then you can bury the sergeant. As his captain, you'll write his family, of course."_

_"__Yes, sir, I will." _

_"__Good. Good job, Captain – but next time follow orders exactly as they are given or there will be dire consequences. Understand?" _

_"__Yes, sir."_

_The colonel turned on his heel and slowly strode back to his tent. _

_Adan stared at the body of Sergeant Rowe, a man who liked to laugh and often regaled the other men with rude jokes and stories about his rough childhood in the hills of Montana. On calm evenings, he pulled out his French harp and played tunes, some so sad and tender Adam had to turn away. Others were so bright and sprightly, many of the men would get up and dance, moving their feet in the shuffling steps they had learned from their grandfathers. Often, the soldiers danced with each other while the rest of them sat, hooting, clapping, laughing and making jokes. _

_As far as Adam knew, Rowe's father was still alive. He decided to go through the sergeant's effects and send them to his father, especially the French harp; there had been at least two letters from the man since the war had started. Adam wondered if someone would do the same for him should he become one of the fallen. Also, how would his father take the news?_

"Captain?"

Adam snapped back to the present, looking at Kelley.

"As I said, here's his dossier. We'll contact you periodically. Do you understand what is required? You are to find out if Mansfield has the gold and if he does, where it is. Then you are to confiscate it as quietly as possible. You have permission to kill Mansfield or any of his cohorts with impunity. But amnesty will be given only after this mission is completed-successfully."

Kelley and Armbruster waited. Ben barely breathed, staring at Adam.

"I've killed enough men for you," Adam said.

The two men stood and Armbruster said, "Then one more won't matter."

Adam considered refusing, telling them to go to hell. Should they take him into custody, he considered if he should resist or just go along peaceably and let life do to him what it would.

Kelley said, as he put on his hat and picked up his attaché, "You understand, Mr. Cartwright, Captain, that this is not to be discussed or revealed to anyone, including the sheriff. Consequences would be swift and harsh. We can expropriate property. After all, there is a railroad coming and you might be reluctant to sell this Ponderosa…can't you just see how it would better serve the government?" He smiled. "We'll let ourselves out."

Ben let out a deep breath as the door closed behind them. Adam still stood, considering what had transpired.

"Well, I…Adam, that might explain how Mansfield…what are you doing?" Adam had retrieved the dossier and tossed it in the fire. "That's an important document that…"

Adam picked up the bottle of French brandy and held it by the neck. "I won't discuss this, Pa. It's my business, not Ponderosa business, so not your business. You won't lose the Ponderosa; I'll make sure of it, but I'm through with killing and I sure as hell am finished with subterfuge—and the army." But even as Adam said it, he knew it wasn't true; he would be forced to do something, couldn't just remain in the middle like Burdian's ass, and "starve".

Adam took to the stairs, expecting to hear his father call him back but he didn't. The front door opened and Roy's voice exploded in the air. "Ben, what the hell was that all about? Them two just rode away without so much as a 'kiss my ass'. And I sure could use that coffee and brandy right now if you're still offerin'." Adam closed his bedroom door, trying not to think of the conversation with Kelley and Armbruster, or the war, or Mansfield, or Carmelita, or Milagro, or all the other unhappiness of the past few years. But he knew they would all visit him in his dreams like unwanted relatives who overstay their welcome.


	8. Chapter 8

**Seven ~ A Poke in the Nose**

The mirror reflected a middle-aged man with puffy eyes and a sallowness from drinking too much for too long, who hadn't slept well. Adam stared at himself while holding his shaving brush in one hand and the razor in the other. He glanced down at the blade glistening in the morning sun, his hand shaking. How many times had he shaved? Hundreds upon hundreds, but never before had it occurred to him that a shaky hand might unintentionally slit his throat. He applied more shaving soap to his neck, running it in small circles upward, then dropped it into the mug.

A knock on his bedroom door caused Adam to turn away from the washstand mirror. "Come in." Looking again into the mirror, he shaved his neck with long, slow, upward strokes. He paused when in his mirror, he saw his father walk in and close the door behind him. His father then shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at Adam's back, forming his thoughts into words.

"Morning, Pa. Am I late for breakfast?" Adam finished his neck and then reached for the towel to wipe off the bits of soap still left on his neck and cheeks.

"No, I just want to talk with you alone before we sit down."

Adam tossed the towel aside and reached for the clean work shirt he had placed over the back of the chair at his old desk, the desk where he used to sit and study and work his sums for school. There was also the spot on the top right where he had childishly carved his initials into the smooth desktop; even as a child he had wanted to leave his stamp on something.

"If it's about last night, I told you and, Armbruster and Kelley, I want nothing to do with any investigation of Mansfield. I'm through." Adam slipped on the shirt and proceeded to button up the placket.

"Adam, I'm not going to try to convince you to do it. I've thought about what you said, about how the world is changing and that we need to alter our way of doing business. I know that trail drives are eventually going to cease. Already we've been shipping some of our cattle by rail, but again, we have to get them to the stock yards in Carson City and load them there. And the mines, well, I'm going to do as you suggested the other day, contact the treasury department about buying our silver, maybe getting a contract.

"But none of that resolves the fact that we're practically prisoners on our own property. Mansfield has us by the balls and unless we pay his price, unless we pay him a "tribute," we have to go the long way around to get to Carson City; it's the hub of business now. I won't be able to take the silver to the Carson City mint unless we pay, and if Mansfield finds out I'm taking silver, that is if I'm successful, he'll charge a ridiculous amount."

Adam started to tell his father that they'd just have to go the long way around but he knew that route wasn't prudent or safe. He had heard stories about both southern and the northern soldiers who found they no longer fit into the changed world and had found their niche was robbery and ransom; he had done something similar himself, dropped out of society to lick his wounds. Going the long way around with wagon-loads of silver ore would leave them vulnerable to such men, not to mention the Indians who had become more active lately, more determined to keep the white man's government from taking their land as easterners moved again to the southwest. Any stolen silver would buy them more weapons.

"That seems to be the new cost of doing business," Adam offered. "I don't know what else you want me to say. If Mansfield sells his land to the railroad as I think he will, that might resolve most of the issues." Adam tucked his shirt tail in his waistband; he was a little queasy from drinking the night before, but around the edge was hunger and he could smell Hop Sing's ham and biscuits.

"I know Joe and Hoss told you about the way the legal cases against Mansfield have gone. I told you too. He always wins. I've wondered if he doesn't have someone in his pocket."

"Maybe he wins because he's right—legally, that is."

"He can't be that right all the time!" Ben had pulled his hands out of his pockets and his voice and face took on the attitude and sound of an angry man. He was angry with Mansfield, angry with Judge Wolfe's justice system and angry with Adam. He knew Adam—or the Adam before the war—but Adam now seemed changed. It appeared his eldest son was determined to avoid any unpleasantness. Ben could understand the need for peace after tumultuous times but Adam seemed to want to disappear from becoming an active participant in life—to meld into the background.

Adam said nothing.

"All right. Forget what I said. I shouldn't have said anything; you've seen enough battles and I well understand you not wanting to start one here. And the last thing I want is to argue with you after waiting so long for you to come home." Ben made himself relax, dropped his shoulders and took a deep breath. He smiled. "Have you any plans for today?"

"Not really. Thought I'd ride around the property, visit the mines maybe. But maybe not. I might just get a pole and go fishing. I haven't seen the lake in years and I think, well, my soul needs the water. I'm tired of dust and desert."

Ben smiled. "I think fishing is a good idea. Get Hop Sing to pack you a lunch and maybe we'll have some trout for dinner. I'll let him know."

Adam picked up the two hair brushes and turned back to the mirror and called out, "Have him hold something else in reserve for dinner just in case they're not biting today. And don't tell Hoss. He'll have his mouth set for fried fish and you know how he is when he's disappointed."

Ben chuckled and walked out. Adam turned to look at the closed door and then at his reflection as he used both brushes at the same time, running them along both sides of his head. He then placed the bristles of one brush into the bristles of the other and placed them on the high chest against the wall. He chuckled to himself. "The beast with two backs." He shook his head. "You need a woman, boy, when simple things like that make you think of fornication." And he considered riding into Virginia City that night and visiting Louanne again; once she stopped trying to make conversation, she wasn't a bad poke. And with that thought, he went down to breakfast.

~ 0 ~

The day had been beautiful, the air initially crisp but warming up enough so Adam could remove his jacket. He still wore his tall military boots, not yet having gone to Carson City. The idea of riding the long way around, taking almost three hours for an hour ride one way, was just too much to think about at the moment.

But the fish had been biting and by lunch, Adam had five large fish soaking in the sack by the lake's edge. He relished the solitude and ate his lunch of cold breakfast biscuits, a slice of apple pie wrapped in oiled paper along with some cold fried chicken, surprisingly left over from dinner. Seeing the pieces left on the platter, Adam had remarked that Hoss must be "off his feed"; Hoss could inhale three cooked chickens at one sitting. But Hoss explained, "I think my stomach done shrunk along with my appetite over the past few months, you know, travelin' to Mexico and all. Didn't have none of Hop Sing's pies or cakes nor none of them crispy almond cookies and a tall glass of milk—just beans and bacon and hard tack. My waistband's a little loose-thought my britches 'ld drop off the other day and 'barrass me." But he was certain, given a few more weeks, his appetite would return.

Adam tossed his aside hat and stretched out under the tree, looking up at the gently moving leaves. He craved a drink, and not from the jar of lemonade Hop Sing has packed. Adam could almost feel the heat in his throat and the back of his tongue from a slug of alcohol. And then the warmth as the liquor surged through his veins, imbuing him with a sense of well-being. He wanted a drink desperately. But at breakfast that morning, as the fork trembled in his hand and Adam saw his father notice, he decided that no more would he allow anything, alcohol being one of them, to take control over him. Adam thought back on the philosophy of self-determination he had studied in college, that man should rely on his reason, not his passions. "Yes," Adam thought as he lay in the shade, "I have control over myself—not a bottle of mezcal. I have a mind and an intellect." He closed his eyes, willing his body to relax and rid his hands of the small tremors that gripped them. He took long, deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds and then slowly releasing them. Again, and again he repeated the cycle until his mind and his body calmed. He whispered the lesson he had learned almost 20 years ago: "Reason, rationality, self-awareness of one's flaws and the determination to change them, that's what's most important." The wind gusted, caressing him. "Know thyself," he whispered. But, he considered as the heaviness of relaxation fell on him, another little aphorism: "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."

The bird song and swishing of the leaves eventually lulled Adam to sleep and he slept peacefully-no dreams. When he woke, he again tossed in his line and within an hour caught two more fish. Adam knew fish bit less as the day wears on, so looking up at the sky and judging it to be late afternoon, Adam headed for the Ponderosa.

As he rode into the yard, he noticed both his brothers' horses tied near the house. He swung down from his mount and walked the animal into the barn. There was now a barn boy on the Ponderosa. No longer did Joe, being the youngest Cartwright, have to shovel out the stalls and lay down fresh hay. They didn't even have to curry their horses or pick their hooves unless they wanted to; Lyndon, a lanky boy of 16, did all those chores. For pay, he received 15 cents a day, "beans and board", and the honor of being the butt of all jokes in the bunkhouse.

Lyndon was sitting on the hay, his back against a post, soundly asleep. Adam kicked the sole of the boy's right boot and he startled awake. He managed to scramble to his feet quickly but hay still clung to him, the same color as his hair.

"Oh, hey, Mr. Adam." He ran a hand over his face. "Want me to take your horse?"

"Yes. Rub him down good and then feed him." Adam considered telling Lyndon to do the same for Hoss' and Joe's horses but for all he knew, they might be heading out again. Besides, he decided, it wasn't his business. Adam just unhooked the sack of fish from his saddle horn, unsheathed his rifle from the scabbard, and walked to the house. He had quite the bounty to show for his day at the lake. But the serenity of the day spent under the blue sky and lulled into a sense of quietude by the lapping of waves was shattered when he entered the house and saw his father, Hoss and Hop Sing fussing over Joe who sat on the settee holding a cloth to his cheek.

"What's going on?" Adam asked as he took off his hat, standing his rifle by the door.

"Joe almost got hisself beat to death," Hoss said looking up.

Adam walked around to see better. Joe's face was swollen. His right jaw was purple running up to his eye. Ben Cartwright took the cloth and wrung it out in cool water from a bowl.

"Hop Sing, take these, would you?" Adam asked holding out the sack of fish. "Fry the mess up for dinner."

"You got fish?" Hoss asked, smiling.

"I sit here a pile of broken bones," Joe complained to Hoss, "and all you can do is think of fish!"

Hop Sing took the sack but was reluctant to leave—but he did. He had fish to clean for dinner.

"Who got the best of him?" Adam asked.

"One of Mansfield's men," Hoss answered. "Me 'n Joe and Turley done see a downed fence. I tell you, they pull 'em down just to devil us. Anyway, Turley and me left Joe and the wagon alone to fix the one separatin' the Runnin' D from us while we rode on down the line,…"

"I'll tell it," Joe said, "if my jaw'll work. I was taking a roll of wire out of the wagon when some of Manfield's men rode up, three of them, and claimed the fence was on Mansfield's property line. I didn't believe them, told them to go f…"

"Joseph," Ben reprimanded. "You know I don't like that kind of language."

"Sorry, Pa. Anyway, Adam, I tried to just keep working but they said Mansfield bought the Running D last week and I was trespassing." He turned to his father. "We shoulda bought that land a long time ago, Pa, when Will and Laura first left."

"Joseph, just…I know," Ben said holding the cloth.

"Anyway, I called them goddamn liars and a few other things and kept working. Then one said I was the pup of a New Orleans French mongrel whore so I threw the first punch. I had to, had no choice. Well, I never stood a chance after that." Joe gingerly moved his jaw side to side, holding it with his hand; he winced. "He slammed his fist into me and kicked my ribs when I hit the ground. Then the other two took turns. But they just seemed to be playing—not really hurting me that bad. I mean they hurt me enough, all right, but they could have beat me into the ground so deep they might as well've buried me."

Joe protested as Ben unbuttoned his shirt smeared with dirt and some of his blood from his mouth. "I want to see your ribs. You said they kicked you." Joe started to complain more but Adam shook his head. Joe sat back and Ben opened the shirt. Joe's ribs were bruised. "Lie down, Joe so I can tend those ribs."

"Don't touch them, Pa. They hurt too much and I'm not some kid. I just want to go upstairs and lay down until Doc Martin comes."

"Joe, those bruises go halfway around – your kidneys might be damaged or even something worse."

"Pa, you worry too much. If they wanted to kill me, I think they would have. Help me up though, would you, Adam?"

"Want I should carry you up the stairs, Joe?" Hoss offered.

"No! I'm not some bride on her wedding night!"

"I'se just askin'!"

Adam helped Joe to stand while Ben fussed about his youngest.

Joe walked slowly to the stairs and held the rail as he began to take each one slowly.

"Joe?" Adam said. Joe turned, stopping halfway up. "Were the men from around here? Had you ever seen them before Mansfield arrived?"

"No. Why?"

"How'd they know your mother was from New Orleans? That was such a long time ago—almost 25 years. I doubt many people who're still here would even remember and even if they did, why would they talk about it to strangers?"

Ben stared at Adam, not quite understanding.

"What you gettin' at, Adam?" Hoss asked.

"Well, just that it's unusual they would know that information-and that Joe's a hothead. Seems if the men wanted to seriously hurt him, they would've. They could've shot him for trespassing. Probably would've gotten away with it too. It's almost as if they knew about…his mother, almost as if we've been investigated."

And Joe slowly went back to climbing the stairs, looking back, confused, before he rounded the corner.

"I'm gonna take care of the horses but I ain't unloadin' the wagon. I'll be damned iffen they're gonna chase me away from fixin' them fences tomorrow."

"Now, Hoss…" Ben started.

I know, Pa, I know. I'll stay on our side of the line and far away from the Runnin' D. But I'd like to mash-in a few faces." Hoss left the for the barn.

Adam stood, thinking.

"What is it, Adam?"

Adam smirked. "Think there's a dossier on each of us, Pa?"

"What…you think Kelley has…"

"Oh, I think Kelley's investigated us—he said as much when he gave us security clearance, but there are other ways for a man like Mansfield to find out about us."

"Pinkertons?"

"Possible." Adam pulled off his hat. "I'm going to wash up for dinner. Did really well today. The fish were leaping out of the lake almost landing right in my lap, just begging to be caught."

~ 0 ~

Hoss was eating the golden fried trout when Dr. Martin slowly descended the stairs with Ben, their heads together. Hoss wiped his hands on the napkin he had tucked into his shirt front and then pulled it off. He went to meet the doctor.

Adam, who had been sitting with his hands steepled in front of him, stood up as well. "How is he?" Adam asked.

"He was in a fight but he's not too bad off, considering it was three on one."

"Just a poke in the nose. Just enough to make us angry." Ben looked at him quizzically but Adam said nothing more; Dr. Martin had confirmed his suspicions; Mansfield wanted a confrontation, had probably sent his men out to start one. He sat back down in the old blue chair by the fireplace, considering a brandy or a shot of whiskey. But would he be able to stop with just one? He realized he was frightened that he wouldn't have the will to stop at one drink. Only once or twice before in his life had he lost control of himself and it had terrified him. Adam knew he had to get control over his drinking but for now, he'd abstain–-he had to. But how could he get his mind off of the liquor cabinet? No one would stop him if he pulled out a bottle and took it upstairs with him. He glanced around the chair at the mahogany cabinet and noticed his guitar still waiting for his touch. He picked it up and ran one hand over its curves the way he would a beautiful woman. Then, Adam sat up straighter and leaning slightly over, he started to tune it. Hoss watched while Ben walked the doctor to the door.

"Sure you won't have a coffee?" Ben asked as he held open the door.

"I'm sure. Figured since I'm out this way I'd swing east and check on Mrs. Coleman. They live so far out I can't see her as often as I'd like and I think she's having twins. Either that or that baby's gonna walk away from the delivery bed telling me what I did wrong, it'll be so big."

Ben chuckled. "Well, thank you. Oh, what do I owe you?"

"A dollar ought to do it."

Ben dug in his pocket and pulled out a few coins, counted them and added an extra quarter. "Oats for your horse."

"She'll appreciate it. Goodnight, Ben."

Ben stood at the closed door, considering the visit, and then noticed the sounds of the guitar. He turned to see Adam leaning over, plucking the strings and turning the pegs until the sound was to his liking. The varnish on the face of the guitar was worn where Adam's fingers had slipped across it all those years he had played. Although he had owned a few others, one was still in the top of the wardrobe in his bedroom, this guitar was Adam's favorite with its mellow, haunting sound.

Ben walked back and stood watching; he knew that Adam often thought over troublesome matters while he played. "How can an instrument lose its tuning when no one's touched it?" Ben mused aloud.

Adam looked up, resting his arm in the guitar's waist. "I s'pose a guitar's like a woman. It loses something when it hasn't been touched in a while." And smiling, Adam went back to the instrument.

Hop Sing came out from the kitchen. "What doctor say?" He went to take away Hoss' plate and the almost empty platter of fried fish.

Hoss interrupted his father who started to answer. "Hop Sing, I ain't finished." Hoss went back to his seat at the table. "Doc said Joe's fine. Now, I plan on cleanin' that platter." Hop Sing grinned. "Ain't had such crispy, tender fish in ages. I even think my appetite's done come back!"

Ben smiled. Except for Joe having his dinner of thin oatmeal upstairs per Dr. Martin's order not to chew, everything seemed normal, the way it used to be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine ~ Tourniquet**

The morning was glittering in its beauty. A few fluffy clouds skidded across the sky and the spring breeze gave a man a sense of renewal. Adam was on his way to the Running D, originally owned by Frank Dayton and then his widow, Laura. Although Laura and Adam had once been betrothed, he could only vaguely remember her face anymore and held no memory of her voice or even her touch. She had married Will Cartwright, his cousin, and they tried to make a go of the ranch but Will had no talent for ranching and the bank foreclosed on the second mortgage Will took on and was granted for no other reason but that he was a Cartwright. The money was intended to make repairs and to build up the stock but Will was less than successful and it seemed the Cartwrights, Will, Laura, her daughter Peggy and their young son Ambrose, would be left homeless. Ben offered to take them in for as long as needed and to stake his nephew on another project, but Will was demoralized and Laura's recriminations didn't make things any better. Eventually, they packed up what they could carry and left for San Francisco and the shelter of Laura's Aunt Lil. Now Colonel Mansfield had bought the place, slowly tightening the tourniquet around the Ponderosa. It appeared to Adam that if he could, Mansfield would surround the Ponderosa completely with his own properties.

Adam pulled up the long-legged dapple he was again riding, softly patting its neck. It was a good horse that he had found rider-less on the battlefield. It had a Union saddle and blanket and stood alone and lost among the fallen men. When Adam had approached it, he saw it was quivering, almost afraid to move lest it step on a corpse. Speaking softly to the animal, Adam led it away. His lieutenant-colonel allowed him to keep it after commending Adam on his bravery in battle. But now Beau, the name Adam gave the horse, was leery of loud noises and shied at sudden movements so Adam was always alert when riding it. But he had begun taking the horse out, sitting the saddle, and firing his gun, just to familiarize the animal to the sound, and then speaking in soothing tones until the animal settled down.

He came up the long road to the Running D, stopping just before the first fence separating it from the Ponderosa. The wooden fence had broken down and there was no indication of repair except where Joe had started to replace the poles. A hammer lay on the ground next to the stack of replacement poles.

The place was eerily familiar and silent; how much time he had spent there, pleasant afternoons planning on his taking over the Running D and making it a prosperous spur of the Ponderosa. He had worked about the place, bonding with young Peggy and romancing her mother Laura. But once Laura's affections turned to his cousin Will, Adam realized, surprisingly, that instead of feeling jealousy, he felt relieved.

A hawk glided above and Adam looked up, watching as it floated on the air. His mind wandered to the chickens scratching about the Ponderosa yard and if the hawk up above had been eyeing them. Many a hawk had swooped down and carried off a squawking prize and once when he was a boy, a piglet. Hoss used to tease Joe that if he didn't grow taller soon, a hawk might carry him off. Adam smiled at the memory and how their father would grab Hoss by the ear to get his attention while reprimanding him. Afterward, Hoss, rubbing his sore ear, once mumbled that he would have ears like a sugar bowl if Pa didn't stop soon.

Beau nickered, tossing his head, and Adam looked about. A horse and rider came around the corner of the dilapidated house and at first, Adam thought the blonde woman on the bay horse was Laura; she was as slender but once she rode closer, it was obvious to Adam she wasn't. Although the woman wore a fashionable riding habit—split skirt, vest and a form-fitting jacket with a top hat, Laura never rode a horse, never felt comfortable on one.

The two horses seemed more eager to meet than their riders but Adam sat and scrutinized the woman who slowly approached. He almost smiled as the thought came to him that her face was as long as her horse's and when she was close enough to tell him he was trespassing, her teeth seemed too big for her mouth; it seemed she couldn't close her lips over them for long.

"No, ma'am, I don't believe I am. I'm familiar with the parameters of the Ponderosa and the Running D and if you come any closer, you may be trespassing on my property." He noticed she held a crop in her right gloved hand and he wondered if she applied it and why she would need it. As far as he knew, crops were only required for a stubborn, recalcitrant horse and her horse seemed placid. Or perhaps, for her, it was a fashion accessory.

The woman stopped her horse. "You must be one of those troublesome Cartwrights, always looking to stir things up."

Adam grinned. "Yes, I suppose I am. And you must be one of those troublesome Mansfields who want to buy and sell all the land west of the Mississippi."

"I don't think we're troublesome. I'm Cammie Mansfield and my father is Colonel Jarvis Mansfield and you're the one who almost encroached." Twisting sideways in the saddle, she moved her left arm in a wide, embracing gesture. "He's bought this tract of land and is letting me decide what should be done. I'm thinking of knocking the barn and house down and having it rebuilt to my liking, making it the main house of the Mansfield Ranch, the M Bar. I can see an arch over the road with the name and the brand." She faced Adam again. "What is your opinion of that."

Adam sat comfortably back but still held the reins firmly; it wouldn't do for Beau to shy due to the wind tossing some leaves about and his falling off and looking like a goddamn fool. He looked at the house, paused as if weighing his response, and finally said, "If it is your family's, you can do as you like with it. And since it's sat untended for a few years, I'm guessing it has rats and perhaps raccoons nesting inside. Maybe even a bird's nest or two. The roof has holes so the rain and snows have fallen in, probably rotted the floor boards as well. I'm guessing the wallpaper's peeled off. Why don't you just sell the property to the railroad?"

Cammie examined the man seemingly at ease and in control of himself. "You seem familiar with the place. Just which Cartwright are you?" She smiled smugly. "You must be Adam Cartwright."

Suddenly Adam no longer felt he had the advantage and realized the folly of having burned the dossier on Mansfield. He would have to be more careful from now on, be on alert and was glad he hadn't drunk any that morning although he had wanted to-badly. "Yes, I'm Adam Cartwright."

"Well, no wonder you're so familiar with the Running D. You were going to marry the widow Dayton, weren't you? A few years ago, I believe, and she threw you aside for your cousin." She smiled victoriously. "I suppose she broke your heart. But when did you return to the Ponderosa? I thought you were missing after the war, presumed dead."

"I guess you don't know everything then. I'm still very much alive. But I am curious how you know what you do about me?"

"Then I'm right. Well, Mr. Cartwright, I learn things the way most women do; I listen at doors," she replied, smiling again, showing her large teeth.

Adam chuckled and then leisurely turned his horse to go, touching his hat brim.

"Wait," Cammie called. He stopped and she rode to him. "I know I'm trespassing now, Mr. Cartwright, as I'm on the Ponderosa, but my hopes are you won't shoot me. I heard your brother…Joseph, correct?" Adam nodded. "I heard he had been roughed-up. I hope he's all right. The men said they didn't really hurt him, just wanted to send a message not to trespass. I'm sure you can understand."

"Actually, Miss Mansfield, I can't. From what he said, he was repairing the fence – right there." He nodded and Cammie looked at the spot. "Repairing it would have benefitted both of us. Besides, a warning or an explanation would have served better than kicking in his ribs."

"I suppose so but no one consulted me, nor would they. Please, call me Cammie." She smiled again. He wondered if in her youth she had been teased about having "horse teeth".

"All right, Cammie. But I doubt we'll meet again."

"Well, allow me to make amends…may I call you Adam?" Her eyes were pretty but not pretty enough to overcome the rest of her face.

"Of course."

"Why don't you escort me back to the house—our house; it's not much right now but, well, as I said, I think this would be a nice site. If you come to the house, you can meet my father and perhaps we can be friends. There's no reason, really, for a feud. The Mansfields and the Cartwrights." She laughed. "It sounds like the Montagues and Capulets and that would make us Romeo and Juliet, wouldn't it?"

An idea dawned on Adam but he had mixed feelings; he hoped it didn't show in his face. "Can you promise I won't be shot out of my saddle?"

"I'll be your protector," she said, smiling. "I'll see you through hostile territory. And if you'll stay for lunch, I promise you won't be poisoned."

"All right then," he replied. "It would be a pleasure." Cammie smiled her toothy grin and Adam rode alongside her onto Mansfield property, wondering if it was a trap of some sort. It hadn't occurred to Adam that Cammie Mansfield may be trying to trap him for herself.

~ 0 ~

Lost in thought, Adam almost didn't see the horse and rider waiting in the trees by the road. When movement caught his eye, Adam pulled his gun.

"You can put it away, Captain. It's only me." Agent Kelley's horse stepped out of the shadows and into the sun. "So, you visited the Mansfield's. Rode in with his daughter."

"Didn't know I was being watched, leastways by anyone but Mansfield's men…" Adam smirked and shook his head. How could he have been so stupid, think so slowly. He would have to keep a clear mind if he wanted to stay ahead of things. "How many men do you have on the M Bar?"

Kelley chuckled and grinned. "Now I can't share that information with you, Captain. For all you know, his daughter's one of us."

Adam wanted to state once and for all that he was no longer a captain and to stop referring to him as such but he also knew he had never been discharged, honorably or not. "And on the Ponderosa, how many men?" Adam cocked his head, his hands resting on the saddle horn.

Kelley just shrugged his shoulders as answer, then sat forward in the saddle as if someone might be listening. "Good idea to play up to Mansfield's daughter. Did you get a good layout of the inside of the place?"

"No," Adam brusquely replied. "By the way, two of Mansfield's men—maybe even two of your men, now that I think about it-stopped us and Miss Mansfield dismissed them, but they only dropped back a few yards and followed us to the house. As far as the inside of it, I went no further than the dining room off the parlor. I had lunch with Miss Mansfield—her father never showed.

"Now, let me ask you this: If you have agents there, why can't you have one of them do your dirty work without using Miss Mansfield as a way in?"

"Well, we wanted someone inside, considered replacing the cook or maid with a female agent. And although I have no qualms about killing either woman to get them out of the way, there's always the possibility Mansfield wouldn't necessarily hire anyone we sent to apply. So, we sent one of our agents, a young, handsome man chosen just for the purpose of romancing Miss Mansfield. We were sure he'd finagle a way into Cammie's heart and he did—also made some progress under her petticoats as well; reported she was quite the passionate woman despite her looks. But his efforts at romance were quickly shut down by Mansfield and he was summarily fired—at rifle point. They reported Mansfield bellowed that his daughter wasn't going to have anything to do with a ranch hand who had horse shit on his boots and no money in his pockets. But you, Captain, you'd be quite the catch for Cammie Mansfield; I imagine she's tired of her spinsterhood by now. And you are one of the wealthy Cartwrights and keep your boots clean." Kelley glanced down at Adam's black boots; Adam had polished them just the night before. "And some women like your type. Cammie Mansfield might be one."

"Actually, the idea of courting Cammie occurred to me when I met her today. I figured eventually I'd be able to check out the house, look for places the gold might be hidden."

Kelley was now eager. "Yes, that's what we want, sketches of the interior, let us know what is where, you know, the bedrooms, Mansfield's office, anyplace a safe might be kept or hidden. You're a trained architect and can do the sketches better than anyone else could."

"Has it ever occurred to you the gold may be buried somewhere on the property?" Adam waited.

"We thought of that but no one has seen Mansfield dig up anything and our men have searched within a half mile of the property looking for any fresh dirt. He's had expenses, his daughter's piano teacher who comes twice a week from Carson City, horses he provided for his men, their salary, the lumber for his house and barn and basically no income, leastways not that we could find. And he's been buying a few expensive heads of cattle from Montana. We've been auditing his expenses to income and the numbers don't jibe. He has to have at least part of the gold where he can get it."

"I see," Adam said.

"I'm glad you're taking this assignment seriously."

"Don't be so sure. My meeting up with Cammie Mansfield today was an accident, nothing more. But I don't cotton much to the idea of misleading her."

"How you handle things is up to you. Just find out what we need to know. I'll find you again later sometime and we'll talk again. Have something for me." Kelley turned his horse and rode off into the trees.

Adam prodded his horse with his bootheels and slowly rode home; he had quite a bit to think about before he reached the ranch house. But before he turned up the way to the ranch house, he held his horse which danced about, knowing the barn was close by.

"Not going home yet, Beau," Adam said to his horse. "I need to have some answers first." And he rode to Virginia City. The streets were busy and no one noticed him. Two older men sat talking on the bench in front of the courthouse and they nodded to Adam as he walked up the step and into the building.

A heavy woman behind the counter smiled when she saw him. "Adam, I heard you were home! So good to see you. You look well. I was telling Beverly I heard you were back and now I can tell her I saw you and how good you look. Dropped a few pounds, though, didn't you? Well, most men get fat as they age—and women too!" She laughed. "But you look just as good as when you signed up. I imagine your father must be overjoyed to have you home. I always asked about you whenever I saw him. You know there's been all that business about land purchases; your father always came in to check the records of the sales—price and such. Wanted to see for himself that there was nothing spurious going on."

"Thank you, Mrs. Thomas, for asking. My father's very happy I'm home. Now, I was…"

"And how is everyone else at the Ponderosa?" She tapped a pencil on the counter, smiling.

Adam knew why she asked and he obliged in the reciprocal social niceties. "We're all fine, thank you. And how is Beverly doing?" He had squired Beverly Thomas for a short time and had the feeling her parents wanted him as a son-in-law almost more than Beverly wanted him as a husband—and Beverly did, trying all her wiles to win him over.

"Oh, haven't you heard? My Beverly's married. She and Creed Sanders married four years ago and have twin boys. Law! What little hellions they are! Peter and Paul are their names. I said, Beverly, couldn't you think of anything else to name them? Well, she said that they were named after apostles but I said, Beverly, you know the old saying, 'To rob Peter to pay Paul.' I was sure everyone would think of it or say it as a joke and you know, they do. But I suppose one can't go wrong with Bible names—why like yours. Can't get much more biblical that Adam."

Adam smiled indulgently. "No, I suppose not. Mrs. Thomas, I was wondering if anyone has been in here over the past year or so doing record searches on the Ponderosa or on any of us Cartwrights, particularly Joe."

"Oh, well. Let me get the log." Just by the look on her face, Adam knew someone had. She came back with a large, thick book and asked, "What particular date do you want?"

"May I look at it? It's not private is it?" Adam reached for the book.

"Well, I…" Mrs. Thomas was hesitant and she became uneasy; she knew she couldn't deceive Adam as he had a way of looking at a person that made their stomach knot.

"It's just signatures and what document they're viewing, correct?" he asked smiling disarmingly. "Nothing private."

"Well, if you don't take it from the counter, it's all right. I mean you'd have to open it to sign if you were looking at a record. You'll see your father's name in there quite a few times."

"Thank you." Adam smiled and turned the book to face him and flipped through until he reached the last page with signatures. He flipped backwards and he saw that Jarvis Mansfield had been there a month ago checking on the Running D. "This person, Jarvis Mansfield, did you talk to him?"

"Oh, well, yes, of course. I mean he asked a few questions about the property. Noticed it was owned by your cousin Will Cartwright before the bank foreclosed. He asked if Will was living on the Ponderosa and …he was very interested in the history of the Running D. So, I told him about Frank Dayton and his death and then his widow, Mrs. Dayton, owning it alone and how…"

"The Running D does have an interesting history, doesn't it? I suppose you told him that Mrs. Dayton and I were to be married?" Adam asked.

"I may have…I really don't remember as you can see by the date that it was almost two months ago."

"Yes, I see. Well, let me ask you this—at any time, did Mr. Mansfield or anyone else ask to see birth certificates or such on my family?"

Mrs. Thomas' heart was pounding. These were public records and anyone could access them, just sign the log and look at them here. But Adam knew she had talked far too much to the men who came in researching the Cartwrights, had enjoyed gossiping about them. She decided she had better answer him as truthfully as she dare. "Yes. A man came in, said he was an investigator and had a client who was interested in any birth certificates for the Cartwright family and any marriage certificates. There aren't any marriage certificates here and the only birth certificate is Joseph's. I told him that but he asked to see it so he signed and I found it in the files."

"Can you show me where he signed?"

"Yes." Mrs. Thomas couldn't look Adam in the eye as she remembered how she had regaled the man with stories of the beautiful and haughty Marie Cartwright who was reputed to have been a harlot in New Orleans. She herself hadn't been around then when Ben brought her home with him, but had arrived with her husband, Mr. Thomas, and their small daughter shortly after. "Oh," she had told the man who listened intently, "that Marie was supposed to be an orphan who married into a wealthy family and after her husband died, well, she clung to Ben Cartwright, I was told. It's said that she, well, she was free with her favors and even visited the bunkhouse nights Ben Cartwright was away. Why I heard she even seduced his eldest son, Adam. That boy was handsome, grew to a handsome man but I would imagine he laughed behind his hand at cuckolding his father. He and his step-mother must have shared a few laughs together. There were even rumors that as young as Adam was, he is the real father of young Joseph." Mrs. Thomas knew she was gossiping based on people's envious observations long ago and was certain none of it was true but the man was so interested, she kept talking. Her husband often warned her that gossip would do her in and the Clerk of Courts himself had once reprimanded her for speaking out of turn.

"Here," Mrs. Thomas said, turning the log so Adam could see. "His name is James Costello." She waited while Adam ran his finger across the page and saw the code for birth certificates.

"Thank you, Mrs. Thomas," Adam said. "Give Beverly and her little family my best."

As the door closed behind Adam, Mrs. Thomas had to sit down; she needed to recover her composure. She had told too many people, both that Mansfield who had filed all those property purchases and then that Costello who had charmed her. She hoped Adam never found out all she had said. But she felt he already knew.


	10. Chapter 10

**The site gave me trouble this morning posting this. Anyway, thanks to those who are reading and hope this eases any anxiety or tension (or even boredom) you may feel at being housebound. **

**Ten ~ Close to the Chest**

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" Ben stepped out on the front porch where Adam sat working out a tune on his guitar.

"Yeah, it is." Adam placed one palm over the strings of his guitar, stilling it. "I expect we'll get some rain in a week or two. Hope with the snowmelt and all, we don't have any flooding but I prefer that any day to a drought."

"We're lucky we have that creek running through our own property. Flooding or not." Ben shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky. "Clear sky tonight. Look at those stars—beautiful. Your mother used to say that each star was an angel because in _Paradise Lost_, the angels are said to give off different lights."

Adam put down his guitar. "You come out to talk to me about anything special, Pa, or just to wax poetic about stars?"

Ben looked at Adam and chuckled. "I was hoping you had something to tell me and was just waiting. You seem to be struggling with something."

Adam grinned and scratched above one eyebrow. "Well, I've been struggling with a few things. Although you haven't said anything, Pa, I'm guessing you've noticed I've been drinking more than usual. And your best whiskey, at that."

Ben chuckled. "I've noticed. Couldn't help but notice as Hop Sing's been keeping track of the empty bottles in your room. He had a little talk with me. Told me to, how did he say it? "Put boot hard on floor."

"Come to put your foot down, then?"

"No, you've never been one for fooling yourself. This talk here proves you're aware of what you've been doing. I was hoping you'd get a grip on things yourself but if you need my help with anything, if you need to dry out someplace…"

"Thanks, Pa, but I have to deal with this myself. All that whiskey, not to mention the mezcal I lived on in Mexico, has muddled my brain, even brought about a bit of amnesia, of a sort. It's scared me a little—this having trouble remembering simple things, but I guess that's the benefit of drinking for most people. But I kept thinking about Old Dixie and how he finally died in his own vomit, having drunk from the wrong bottle. Frank Morrow as well, swallowed a bullet to cheat the hangman after beating his wife to death while drunk. I have to stay away from it and find it easier to resist whiskey's lure while outside. Surprised you didn't lock the liquor cabinet, though."

"I considered it. You want me to?"

"No. Might as well have it there, open and waiting for me. I used to have such a sense of strength…I need to get that back."

"If you need help…" Ben saw Adam was finished with that conversation; his son took on a look that ended any further discussion. "Anything else bothering you?"

Adam stepped off the porch, glancing back at the house, and Ben followed. The front window was open and the sounds of Joe and Hoss playing checkers floated out, Hoss protesting being jumped yet again and Joe, trying to garner sympathy over his bruised ribs.

"Well, Pa, I had an interesting day—don't really know where to start. I rode over to the Running D…don't worry, I stayed on our side. Well, I met Mansfield's daughter. She was looking about the place. It seems that's where Mansfield might want to put his permanent house, at least his daughter said as much."

"Oh, so he has a daughter?"

"Yes, and I would have known it if I hadn't tossed that goddamn dossier into the fire. Anyway, her name is Cammie Louise and she invited me home to meet her father, guess she thought we might be friendly. Partway there, we were accosted by a few of Mansfield's henchmen but things went smoothly enough. So, I lunched with her; they have a damn good cook. Found out Mrs. Mansfield is deceased and so are Cammie's two brothers, casualties of war; their portraits were on the sideboard along with an antique silver service – her grandmother Brackett's, Cammie said. And there's a large painting of her mother resting on the mantle in the parlor—not yet hung up; I'm sure the artist flattered her to earn his commission."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he made her lovelier than she really was since Cammie said she resembles her mother."

"Not a pretty girl, hmm?"

"In a word, homely, and she's not a girl. Close to 30."

"Eager to get married?" Adam shrugged. "Did you see Mansfield?'

"No, he never came home while I was there."

"And? What else?" Ben waited while Adam considered.

"The house wasn't much—I was surprised at first, but then if your plans are to sell the property, why would you spend all that money building a beautiful home only to have a locomotive barrel through your parlor? Didn't get a good look at the rest of the house although there couldn't be much more, looking from the outside, just the bedrooms. And…I asked Cammie to the spring social tomorrow night."

"And Miss Mansfield said yes?"

"Almost jumped at it the way the fish did the other day, even invited me to dinner beforehand. Does make me a little suspicious, though. Our meeting may have been a coincidence, just pure chance, but then, suppose she was asked by her father to 'enchant' one of us if she came across a Cartwright. Everyone hereabouts knows you have three bachelor sons and you're single yourself—some women like older men."

"All right. That's enough, Adam."

Adam chuckled. "All right. I'll find out if it was accidental or intentional tomorrow, I suppose. and I'll meet the Colonel again over breaking bread."

"Unless you're ambushed driving there. Adam, I don't know that…"

"Pa, it'll be all right. Don't worry about it; I'll be fine."

"I know what you think, Adam, that you can take care of yourself but…" Ben looked at his eldest and wanted to protect him. But Adam had been through three years of a bloody war and wandered to Mexico and had managed to come home. He was a man and yet Ben's heart yearned to keep his sons close to him and safe. But he had to let go. "Think the Colonel'll recognize you?"

"I don't know. I only came face to face with him twice. You're talking about 1,000 men in a regiment and him at the top."

"Well, Adam, looks like you did have an interesting day."

Adam lowered his brows. "I also ran into Kelley—actually, he was waiting for me on the road. He has men working for Mansfield and I think a few of your newer hires may be agents working for Kelley too."

"What?"

"Now, Pa, I wouldn't be surprised. Actually, once you consider, it's even to be expected."

"Well, I don't expect it. How many of them? Should I fire them?"

Adam put up his hands. "No, don't fire anyone. Kelley didn't confirm anything but I just wonder."

"Well, that's a helluva thing." Ben pursed his lips.

Adam chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Pa. Just go about business as usual."

"Business as usual! When I may have spies working for me."

"Pa, you have nothing to hide. It's not like they sleep in the house and if you watch…" Suddenly, Adam realized he hadn't considered all possibilities.

"What is it, Adam?"

"Now, I just landed on the idea that Mansfield may have seeded one or two of his men in the Ponderosa new hires."

"What? Why would…"

"I don't know, Pa. I'm just saying it's a possibility. Tell you what—get the sign-up list of names of any unfamiliar hires, you know, men who've never signed on before for spring roundup, and I might check things out. Maybe find Kelley—or let him find me—and ask him about them. They may just be cowhands."

"Yes, yes," Ben said, his brow furrowed. "Adam, what did Kelley have to say about you squiring Miss Mansfield to the dance?"

"Nothing—didn't tell him, didn't want to tip my hand too soon."

"Ben frowned. Well, about the list, I'll do that right now. Right now." Ben turned but Adam stopped him with a hand on his father's shoulder. "What?"

"Bring me a bottle of the best rye whiskey we have."

"What? But, Adam, you just said that…"

"I know, I know. Just trust me. Please. And an unopened deck of cards."

Ben hurried to the house and Adam sat back on the porch. He smiled, shaking his head as he heard a checkerboard and checkers hit the wall and Hoss calling Joe a "dadburn, no-good cheater! No one can be that lucky!" Adam wanted a drink; it would ease his anxieties that were like ants crawling over his skin. But instead, he pulled a pack of rolling papers and a small bag of cut tobacco out of his shirt pocket and rolled a cigarette. Once lit, Adam sat back and waited for it to take the edge off his desire for the smooth whiskey sitting in the liquor cabinet and the bottle of rye his father would bring him.

~ 0 ~

The men in the bunkhouse were all new hires except for Landry, the foreman, and the cook who everyone called Pop. He was asleep in a rocking chair over by the kitchen stove, snoring in his low, gravely way. Lyndon, the barn boy, lay on his top bunk reading a well-worn dime novel, _Dandy Rock, the Man from Texas_. He glanced to see who had come in and then went back to the world of heroes and their derring-do, things he could only imagine.

After saying hello to Landry, Adam introduced himself to the five new men and proffered the whiskey and the unopened deck of cards. "Thought I'd start up a game and introduce myself since we'll be working on round-up together. I'm Adam Cartwright and there's no better way to known a man, in my opinion, than carousing and whoring with him, but since that's not possible, drinking and losing money to him-or the other way around – is going to have to do." Adam grinned while the men chuckled, introduced themselves, and quickly cleared the table while the one called "Sampson", pulled out glasses.

As he broke the seal on the deck and handed it to Dave Martell to shuffle, Adam went over in his head the names: Russ Staples, Jim Clayton, Bo Mason, Cory Sampson and then Martell who had a definite southern twang to his voice. During the first game, Martell said he was from Louisiana and after the war, figured that instead of going back home to "sticky heat, swamps, cottonmouths and alligators", he'd try his hand at baking heat, rattlers and wrangling cattle. "Lessen you got something 'gainst southern boys?" Martell asked, focusing on his cards, not looking up.

"The war's over," Adam said, "except when I hear dynamite go off at the mine. I almost shit myself then." It was then Martell looked up and met Adam's eyes and they both understood they were in the same place.

Nursing one drink the whole time, Adam lost fifteen dollars, most of it intentionally. Landry had remarked that being away for so long, Adam must have lost his edge at poker but he realized Adam didn't want to win all the money and alienate the men. Landry also knew that Adam was sizing up the new hires. Landry had worked for the Ponderosa for ten years this spring and as foreman for three, and he was familiar with the family's ways, the talents and flaws of the four men. So, Landry sat and watched the poker games, smoking his pipe and sipping rye whiskey while Adam shared his rolling papers and tobacco with the hands. Although all the men had their own smokes along with tins of chewing tobacco for the long days on horseback, they appreciated Adam's generosity.

Ben Cartwright was paying more than any other rancher in the whole state of Nevada and even Utah-$8.00 a week, beans and bunk, and both Saturday and Sunday off—and didn't require a man to attend church. The available positions were quickly filled, it only taking Ben and Hoss one afternoon to hire their men. They had only needed five new men anyway and if they didn't know how to rope and brand, Ben told them it was no problem. Either he or one of his sons would teach them—as long as they didn't mind the smell of burnt hair and hide.

It was almost 10:00 according to the clock on the wall, its pendulum ticking off the seconds, when Adam tossed in his cards. "That's it for me," Adam said, standing up and stretching. "Lost two weeks' pay. I'm done for."

"Two weeks' pay?" Bo said, standing up. "You work for pay?"

"The same as you," Adam said, straightening the cards and putting them back in the box. "You can keep what's left of the whiskey but I'm taking the cards. Going to mark them before the next game."

The men laughed and again, Adam shook hands all around. He stepped outside into the chilled air, breathing deeply and looking up at the stars. He had done it, had managed to have only one drink all night. Granted, he had smoked too many cigarettes but the three, drinking, gambling and smoking, seemed to go together. He walked slowly to the house; he would tell his father that Martell and Clayton had both fought for the Confederacy but had put it behind them. Cory Simpson had been in Texas during the war, down around the Mexican border towns, or so he said. As for Bo Mason, he had been working in Missouri on a milk farm. It was possible Russ Staples could be one of Kelley's men but Adam was unsure as the man was tight-lipped and grunted more than spoke. Or he could be Mansfield's. But as things were, Adam saw no immediate threat to the Ponderosa. He would advise his father that spring roundup begin as planned come Monday, starting with the high ground.

And in the bunkhouse, as Lyndon lay sleeping with his novel open on his chest and Landry shook Pop awake, Mason said to Martell, "You think it's true what Cartwright said about being paid the same as us?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. Ben Cartwright's a hard man."

"But I can't see him living on it."

"Hope he doesn't or he's got two long broke weeks ahead."


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven ~ The Reluctant Suitor**

After setting the brake of the buggy, Adam looked back at the two men who had followed him at a respectable distance, all the way in. It had taken Adam almost 40 minutes to drive the buggy from the Ponderosa to Mansfield's house and the two men had met him, one on each side of the dirt road, about 10 minutes into the M Bar property. Before Adam stepped down from the buggy, he pushed the rifle under the buggy seat with one foot. He had polished his dress boots from years back and the right one was pinching his toes; he should have worn thinner socks.

Adam leapt down from the buggy and walked to the front door, pulling down the brocade vest. His suit fit across the shoulders but was looser across his torso and the vest, a gray satin with silver brocade, was also loose but soon enough, they would fit if Hop Sing kept up his urging to "Eat more food. Mistah Adam skinny like stringy rooster!" He rapped his knuckles on the fresh wood as there was no fanciful knocker on the door. The two men looked at one another and then rode slowly away and Adam relaxed, releasing a deep breath.

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright," said the maid, Violet, who had served lunch the day before. "Do come in-you're expected, and don't you look the handsome one. May I take your hat?" She smiled up at Adam, cocking her head flirtatiously and looking him over. She was round and lush with a kittenish face, and dark curls trying to escape from the stern bun.

"Thank you," Adam said, handing her his hat.

Cammie came down the stairs wearing a pale-yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline, and smiled broadly, putting out both hands. "Oh, Adam, come sit down. Dinner will be ready in a moment." Adam took her hands in his.

"I hope I'm not late."

"Oh, no, not at all. This gives us a few minutes to talk. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you, but don't let me stop you."

"Oh, no. I'm fine without one." Cammie looked at Violet who gazed admiringly at Adam, swaying a bit. "Violet!" Cammie said sharply. "You may go. Call us when dinner is ready." Violet nodded her head and smiling once more at Adam, turned and left, giving her hips an exaggerated swing. "I don't know why she's still here—so saucy! I'd fire her in an instant but my father claims that help is difficult to come by out here. But when we build the larger house, she'll be confined to the kitchen, peeling potatoes and chopping onions for Cook." She smiled at Adam. "Please sit down, Adam."

Adam did, unbuttoning his jacket but rose again once Jarvis Mansfield walked into the parlor.

"Oh, father," Cammie said, "this is Adam Cartwright. I told you about our meeting this morning."

"Good evening, Mr. Mansfield," Adam said putting out his hand, determined not to address the man as "Colonel". Mansfield looked at him closely as he took his hand.

"Sit down, Cartwright. We have a few minutes before dinner." Mansfield looked Adam over, noticing his suit of clothes and boots. "Well, you're older than I thought. Now, tell me the truth—why did you ask my daughter to the dance in town tonight? What is it you want?"

"Father!" Cammie looked horrified but Mansfield ignored his daughter's protest. Adam saw her blush deeply, her neck becoming mottled with red blotches. It was easy to read her emotions since they literally showed on her skin.

"All I want, Mr. Mansfield, is a pleasant time. I met Cammie yesterday morning and since I don't know any single, young women hereabouts anymore…" Adam noticed Mansfield's look of victory and quickly added, "at least none I couldn't put on my arm in public, I asked Cammie and she accepted. She also doesn't know many people and that can make a person feel isolated." Adam wondered if Mansfield knew about his visit to the whore, Louanne. He may have sent a man to follow him even that early into his return to the Ponderosa; it was unsettling.

"And your asking her to go with you had nothing to do with her being my daughter?"

"Father, please! I'm old enough…"

"That's just the trouble," He said, turning to her. "You so want to marry that you pick the most unseemly of men. Here, in my own home, sits the son of the man who's been trying to ruin me for the past two years, invited by you. Cammie, that's exactly why I think you should go live with your Aunt Amanda in Philadelphia. You would meet so many more eligible men there."

Cammie stood up. She was shaking with humiliation. "I see nothing wrong with going to a dance with Adam. I haven't been anywhere, done anything since…"

"Now, don't you bring him up again! I told you, he was like all the others before him! He just wanted money, hoped by marrying you, he'd get his hands on some. But no daughter of mine is going to marry some common cowboy! I told you that."

Adam stood up. "Perhaps I should leave. I seem to be the cause of some acrimony."

"No, Adam," Cammie said, hurrying to slip her arm through his. "I invited you to dinner and I want you to stay. I hope this little tiff hasn't made you reconsider…"

"I'll tell you something that may make _you_, reconsider, daughter! This man standing here in our parlor, this man whose arm you're clinging to, frequents whores!" Mansfield was livid.

"Well, I would expect that, Father, seeing that he's a bachelor." Cammie's jaw jutted out on defiance.

Adam was unsuccessful in suppressing a smile and Mansfield, obviously flustered, made odd sounds of repressed fury. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw Violet standing just inside the dining room entryway, listening. She calmly stepped out into the parlor.

"Dinner is served." She stepped politely aside but glanced slyly at Adam with just the barest smile playing about her rosy mouth.

The dinner was a creamy vegetable soup, roast beef and small, red potatoes cooked in butter and fresh baby peas. Yeast clover-leaf rolls were piled in a basket and both Adam and Mansfield used them to wipe up the excess gravy on the plate. Mansfield had three glasses of the very good claret, but Adam casually sipped the red wine at his place setting, admiring the well-cut crystal. It was an awkward meal considering the earlier quarrel between daughter and father, but Adam found the family dynamics interesting. Just how did a man with an unattractive daughter keep her from marrying a fortune-hunter? Perhaps he exerted too much control in the wrong area in order to cull them out; he should, Adam thought, let the prospective groom know his daughter would inherit nothing until she was 40 and then see if the man still wanted Cammie's hand.

Adam declined dessert, a pudding, but Violet made a point all through clearing and serving, to intermittently let her bosom touch Adam's upper arm. She wanted his attention but Adam wasn't quite sure why until he felt her hand slip her into his jacket pocket. He met her eyes then and she quickly looked away.

Finally, Cammie excused herself, ordering Violet to accompany her upstairs to adjust her hair and freshen her face. Looking back once at Adam, the maid reluctantly left.

Mansfield lit a cigar, offering one to Adam.

"No, thank you. I'll pass."

Mansfield shook his lit cigar at Adam. "I've seen you before, Cartwright. I know you were in the war…"

"Just as you know…how did you put it? I believe you said I frequent whores."

Mansfield puffed on his cigar. "I felt my daughter should know."

Adam smirked. "And how did you know, unless you were also upstairs being entertained at the time. But I guess you were having me followed," Adam said, sitting back comfortably. The cook came in to clear the table, Violet's usual task.

"Mrs. Hodges, later! You can clear later!" Mansfield waved her off and the woman scurried back to the kitchen. "Of course, I had you followed."

"Why?"

"Well, because one of my men saw the three of you—you and your two brothers-ride onto the Ponderosa. I was concerned your father was hiring a gun hawk; I have to watch my back, you know, and I worried he was upping the ante. And you look…what was it Caesar said about Cassius...?"

" 'Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; he thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.' Do you think I'm a danger to you, Mr. Mansfield?"

"Your steady gaze makes me think your blood runs a little cold."

"Well, to give the devil his due, the war taught me not to think too hard before I shoot a man, especially if he's trying to shoot me—and to look him in the eye as I do it. Made me realize what a burden a conscience is."

Mansfield tried to size up Adam but was confused. But he did know one thing, this man wasn't for his daughter. "You better have a conscience as far as my daughter is concerned." He was going to say more but they heard Cammie's voice and both men rose to go into the parlor. Cammie came down the stairs, smiling, her hair adorned with yellow silk roses and a short, velvet cape about her shoulders. Violet sulkily followed behind.

"Why, Cammie, you look lovely," Adam said. He considered it the truth as she was far more animated, the excitement of going into town bringing a flush to her cheeks.

"Yes, my dear, you certainly do." Mansfield smiled. His wife had been no great beauty and theirs was not a love match, but he wanted better for his daughter. Unfortunately, Cammie had inherited the worst features from both parents. In his sons, it hadn't been as noticeable, but in his daughter, her plainness was obvious. Perhaps a purchased husband for his Cammie was preferred over none. But the sooner he sent Cammie away from this dark-haired man, the better. She had basically only her virtue to recommend her, well, that, and his money.

Standing on the front porch, Jarvis Mansfield watched the buggy carrying his daughter to Virginia City with the eldest son of the man he was trying to destroy; Mansfield wanted the Ponderosa. He would sell all his property to the railroad and then he would move into the ranch house he would build on the Running D and be the lord of Nevada, the wealthiest man this side of the Mississippi. He slowly exhaled the smoke from the cigar, its end glowing in the falling darkness. He turned at the sound of bootheels on the side of the long porch.

"Evening, Costello." James Costello was a tall, handsome man and most charming. Initially, he had displayed an interest in Cammie as well but although Mansfield had no qualms about hiring the man away from the Pinkerton Agency, he didn't want him as a son-in-law.

"Would you like me to follow them?" Costello asked, watching the buggy.

"No, not tonight. Let them be. I'm sure Cartwright will treat her well. Just as long as she's home by ten and not a minute later.

"All right," Costello said. "Think I'll go help myself to a cigar and brandy." Costello walked into the house and Mansfield wanted to order him out, demand more respect from him. After all, he had been a distinguished colonel in the Union army, bravely led many men into battles, successful battles. But Costello would only laugh in his face. Costello knew about the purloined gold, had found it all on his own after Mansfield had hired him and being a good detective, had put certain facts and elements together to arrive at the proper conclusion. Costello had called it, "job security" but Mansfield knew it was nothing more than extortion. Mansfield finished his cigar alone, trying to remember how and where he knew Cartwright's face…and those eyes with their defiant, disdainful, and deadly gaze.

~ 0 ~

Cammie apologized for her father. "He's overly protective, especially since my mother passed, but it is embarrassing."

"A father has to watch over his daughter. Can't let her just go off with anyone, especially a scoundrel like me." Cammie laughed and slipped an arm through Adam's as he held the reins. "So why did he, then?"

"You mean let me go with you?" Adam nodded. "I insisted. When he found out I'd had you over for lunch, he was furious, threatened again to send me back east to my aunt again. But I told him I wouldn't go and that you were to be judged on your own merits." She looked up at him but Adam looked straight ahead. "He knew who you were, that you were a Cartwright and had served in the Union Army. I think he had you followed by Mr. Costello, a man he hired who'd worked for the Pinkertons." Adam glanced over at her. "Do you mind?"

"Actually, I do. But you seem to know quite a bit about all the machinations, Cammie."

"I told you-I listen at doors."

Cammie talked, knowing she was talking too much but Adam listened to her, seemed to be concerned and although she knew it would anger her father that she revealed so much, she couldn't stop herself. Adam had a sympathetic way about him, a gentleness that a woman could trust. She told him of her fiancé who had been killed one week into the war and he offered his condolences. And then the tragedy of losing her brothers had broken her mother and when her father finally returned home a surprisingly wealthy man, her mother tried to shoot him for an unexplained reason, but it was a wild shot and broke a lamp instead and almost set the room on fire. Her mother was sedated for days and afterwards, her health rapidly declined. When the end came, her father was already making plans to move out west.

"Why out here?" Adam asked.

Cammie paused for the briefest moment. "He has a friend on some railroad board and apparently, he told my father that they were expanding the railroad all the way to the Pacific. That's why." She waited but Adam didn't ask anything else and so she talked about how lovely it was to finally dress up and go out somewhere, and although the dress she was wearing wasn't new, having been made in Baltimore before they left, that night was the first time she wore it. It was the finest she owned, being overlaid with Chantilly lace. "If it were white, it would pass as a wedding dress."

Adam smiled to himself, but his thoughts went back to what Violet had slipped in his pocket and if it was of any great importance.

The Presbyterian church community hall was decorated with hanging, twisted crepe in bright colors and Chinese lanterns were strung in an arc across the entryway. Inside, tables were set along one wall and held huge punchbowls and platters of cookies and little iced cakes; at the end of each table was a decorated jar to hold any donations "For our Downtrodden Brothers, Both Red and White." The musicians were on a dais, already playing to the dancers as by the time Adam and Cammie appeared, the festivities were underway. No one really seemed to notice the couple at first and after offering to fetch Cammie some punch, they stepped out on the dance floor to the sweet tune of some long-forgotten waltz. And then either Adm was recognized or Cammie, because people began to look at them and talk to one another, not outwardly pointing, but indicating the couple with motions of their heads.

"Adam, that is you, isn't it?" Adam stopped dancing and grinned when he saw it was an old friend of his, Zak Newsome. The shook hands and Zak introduced his wife, Maybelle. "Four children at home-two girls and two boys. And right now, they're with their Grandma Newsome so I can court my wife anew." He winked at Adam. "Might be another Newsome in nine months if things go as planned." His wife slapped his arm and blushed. Others also came over to renew their acquaintances with Adam, telling him they were glad he was home and setting invitations to their homes. But when Adam would introduce Cammie Mansfield to them, they seemed confused but were polite. And they didn't include her by telling Adam he could bring her to their homes with him.

Hoss stepped into the large room, glanced about at the dancers and the women sitting by the wall, waiting to be asked to dance. Since the war, there were less available men due to the great number of casualties, and despite two of the Ponderosa hands dancing, there was a dearth of men. Hoss nodded at one of the young "fillies" who smiled at him but headed straight to the refreshment tables on the opposite side of the room. He took a cup of punch, downed it, and picking up a plate, filled it with cookies. He left two bits in the donation jar, having to dig some coins out of his pocket.

Turning Cammie about in the dance, Adam caught glimpse of Hoss standing on the sidelines. "There's my brother, Hoss. Let me introduce you," Adam said, stopping, and with his hand on the small of Cammie's back, guided her to where Hoss stood.

Hoss grinned broadly. "There you are, older brother. Still know how to shake a leg." Hoss looked again at Cammie and was taken aback as he and Joe had talked about the mysterious Miss Mansfield who Adam was escorting to the dance. They had been certain that she must be quite a beauty for Adam to risk being backshot, taking her anywhere. They had asked Adam if Mansfield's daughter was beautiful, "C'mon, Adam, you can tell us. We ain't gonna steal 'er from you." But Adam had just shrugged and replied that "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"What the hell does he mean by that?" Hoss asked Joe at the time.

"I guess…I don't know, Hoss. Maybe he just means that if you think someone's pretty…" Joe shrugged. "If a girl's pretty, she's pretty. I don't see that other people would see her differently unless they're cross-eyed and can't see straight."

"I think he just don't want us to get to her first. You know how Adam is."

"Yeah. I know," Joe said, frowning.

Now, looking at Cammie Mansfield, Hoss hoped his face didn't show his surprise at her unattractiveness.

"Cammie, this is my brother, Hoss. Hoss, this is our new neighbor, Cammie Mansfield." Adam could see Hoss was unsure of how he should behave, seeing who Cammie was.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Hoss said. "Adam said he'd be takin' you to this here shindig-I mean dance."

"Thank you, Hoss. It's a pleasure to meet you as well. And it's quite the shindig, isn't it?" Cammie put out her hand, smiling, and then she realized that Hoss had his right hand full with the plate and napkin; he quickly switched hands and the few cookies left almost slid off the plate.

"Oh, Hoss, I…don't drop your food!"

"Ma'am, do I look like I drop much food?" Hoss, grinning, put out his large hand and Cammie shook his.

"Where's Joe?" Adam asked, looking about. Joe rarely missed any event where young, attractive women would gather.

"Oh, he didn't want any girl to see him all bruised up after…" Hoss stopped himself and Cammie dropped her eyes before she looked up at him again.

"I know my father set his men on your brother, Hoss. I apologize for that."

"Um…yes, ma'am. Well, Joe ain't really hurt much, just vain-vain as a schoolgirl who finds a pimple on her nose." Hoss smiled but he noticed Adam motioning for him to do something, and then he realized what it was. "Miss Cammie, iffen Adam will take these last two cookies from me—and they're good, Adam, lemon crisps-I'd be honored to have this dance. Looks like ever'one's movin' to square dance."

"Oh, I don't know-I haven't had much experience…"

"Just lissen to the caller and do what others do. Adam, take my plate." And over her protests that she knew nothing about square dancing, Hoss maneuvered her onto the floor and found them a spot in a square set of four. Cammie looked pathetically at Adam but then the fiddler started up and the dance began.

Adam walked over to the last table and placed the plate on the tablecloth. Mrs. Delaware moved towards him. "Can I get you anything, Adam?"

"Oh, no ma'am, I'm fine but…here." Adam dropped a few coins in the jar. But Mrs. Delaware didn't move away. "Is there something, Mrs. Delaware?" Adam asked.

"I don't mean to pry, Adam, but I heard that was Colonel Mansfield's daughter you brought, the one who's dancing with Hoss."

"Yes. That's who she is."

"And your father approved?"

"Well, actually, I didn't ask him for his approval." Adam grinned and Mrs. Delaware flushed and moved back to her spot serving punch.

Adam slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the paper Violet had slipped into it. _Meet me at the lovers' tree near Frenchman's Creek at 10:30 tonight. _Adam returned it to his pocket and pulled out his watch. He would have to leave within the next half-hour to get Cammie home and to meet with Violet at the tree. At least he hoped it would be Violet. But he had learned not to assume anything.

He sighed and gazed about and through the swirling and moving square dancers, Adam saw Agent Kelley standing outside the open doors and smoking a cigarette. Kelley looked at Adam, flicked his cigarette aside, and raised two fingers to the brim of his bowler in acknowledgement. Then Kelley turned and walked away down the steps.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve ~ Wanton Women**

"You seem to be somewhere else," Cammie said, placing a hand on Adam's arm. He turned at her touch, almost surprised she was there.

They had left he dance later than Adam wanted and he kept the horse at a quick pace which made the buggy ride rougher than he had intended and he apologized to Cammie. He was also keeping an eye out for any riders, listening for sounds such as a horse snuffling or calling to his. Before he left the dance, Adam had checked that his rifle was still under the seat where he could quickly get it, even breaking it open to see it was still loaded. But even knowing it was there, so close, he still felt anxiety and dread. The ride in the darkness and a possible, looming, unseen threat brought back the piney woods of Georgia and how he had led his company through the flat woodlands, expecting enemy fire at any time. His pulse thudded in his ears.

As Adam and Cammie had walked through the church yard to the buggy, Adam looked about. Although there were people outside taking fresh air and a break from the dancing, he couldn't spot Kelley among them. Nor were they followed out by anyone, not even the two Ponderosa hands who were at the dance, Martell and Clayton. If there had been any hired men from the M Bar, Cammie never said as much or behaved as if she recognized anyone there.

Cammie had been reluctant to leave but Adam told her they would be late otherwise. And while he drove her home, he had been mapping out the fastest way to get from Mansfield's to Frenchman's creek without cutting across the M Bar. He glanced over at her. "I'm sorry; I just…my mind was wandering."

"Oh," she said, laughing. "Wandering to that little redhead you danced with twice, hm? She seemed to like you—didn't want to let you go."

"No, not at all. But she did want to keep dancing." He thought of her now that Cammie had mentioned her—a sprightly, little, redhead, Amy, who chattered away the whole time he had his arm about her, telling him she had always thought he was the most handsome of the brothers but he never paid her any mind, she reminded him, "seeing I wore pigtails and had freckles across my nose." But she had grown into a very lovely woman, Adam had assured her.

"I can't say I blame her, Adam; you are a wonderful dancer. But I've never had much experience. I mean I've had lessons in boarding school but dancing with another girl isn't the same as dancing with a man—it's difficult to switch who leads." Cammie waited and was pleased when Adam smiled; his mind may have come back to the present—and her. "I've never been much of a belle though. I appreciate you asking me to the dance tonight. I enjoyed myself, had a better time than any I've had in a long time. And your brother, Hoss, is delightful and he taught me how to square dance. It's surprisingly fun."

Adam chuckled. "Hoss is quite the dancer and a wonderful person. I'm honored to have him as my brother."

There was a pause and then Cammie said, her voice full of sadness, "I miss my brothers. They always teased me and infuriated me, but they loved me. I was the youngest, and they were as protective as my father while growing up—he was gone so much. I hadn't many beaus and I know I'm not beautiful…" Adam started to say something but Cammie continued, stopping him. "No, I have a mirror and I know I'm no beauty and there's no sense in your protesting that I am. I know how a man looks at a woman he wants, a woman he desires because I was once engaged to a wonderful man who loved me. But then the war came and…ruined my plans for happiness."

"I'm sorry," Adam said.

"Oh, Adam, don't be sorry. Let's change the subject from my lack of suitors. So, tell me, why didn't you come home after the war? Where have you been for the past few years?"

"You seem to know a lot about me, far more than I do about you or your family."

"I read Costello's report on you, found it on my father's desk. But where you were for the three years after the war wasn't included, just that you were a captain. That was all Costello could find out. Apparently, he doesn't have access to military records."

"I was in Mexico," Adam said. He put the reins in one hand and pulled out his pocket watch. He moved it to see the time, waiting for the light from the moon to illuminate the face. He slipped it back into the watchpocket. "It's almost 10:00." Adam snapped the reins. By his calculations, they could make the front porch in time if he kept up the pace, but the horse would always settle back down to a comfortable trot. He had to snap the reins and "gee-up" to get the mare to step lively again.

Cammie held onto the side of the buggy as it rocked. "Mexico? What did you do there? Were you a mercenary?"

"I was a goatherd."

"A goatherd? That's all you did?"

"No. I also drank cheap mezcal all day and lived with a spiteful woman and her two children. I herded the goats, butchered them and sold the meat and milk. Now, anything else you want to know?" Adam noticed Cammie was wide-eyed with surprise; apparently that was not the answer she expected.

"No," Cammie barely whispered in answer. Cammie knew what Adam meant when he said he "lived" with a woman. All she knew about Mexico was that it was an exotic place, at least to her. She felt herself flush and the heat rise up her neck. What it must have been like for the woman to have Adam crawl into her bed every night and have his rough, sweaty way with her, Cammie could only imagine. She wondered about Adam's pleasure with the woman, if that was why he stayed so long, because she delighted him in ways that Cammie couldn't even imagine. And was the woman beautiful with sloe-eyes, a headful of wavy black hair and full breasts?

They drove up to the house and Adam helped Cammie down. Mansfield opened the front door and stepped out. "Worried you wouldn't have my daughter home in time, Cartwright. Afraid I might have to send someone after you."

"It's fine, father, I'm home now and on time." She turned to Adam. "Thank you, Adam. I had a wonderful time. Perhaps we can do it again." She offered a tremulous smile.

"Yes, perhaps we can, and the pleasure was mine, Cammie. Goodnight." Adam raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he climbed back into the buggy and Cammie went inside but Mansfield remained.

"Stay on the road, Cartwright, and you'll be safe. But set one wheel on my property…"

Adam said nothing, just turned the buggy about and snapped the reins. He had to hurry to get to Frenchman's Creek the long way about and meet up with Violet – or whomever was there.

Mansfield went inside and Cammie was almost at the top of the stairs. "Cammie, did Cartwright behave himself with you?"

Cammie turned around, untying the ribbon holding her cape closed. "Yes, Father. He behaved himself. I rather wish he hadn't."

"Now, Cammie, that's no way for a lady to talk. Did you have a nice time, though?" Mansfield saw the weariness in his daughter's eyes.

"I had a lovely time, thank you, Father, but I'm tired. Where's Violet. I want her to unhook me."

"She went to bed early; said she had a bad headache. Shall I wake Cook?" Mansfield doubted Violet's excuse but he didn't want to try her locked door and look the fool he had become over the girl. But she had looked in pain, he remembered, and said she'd take a dose of laudanum. If she had, she would sleep heavily, he knew.

"No, no. I can manage by myself. Good night." Cammie went into her room and closed the door. She looked down at the hand Adam had kissed and tried to remember the heat of his mouth through the fabric. Then she pulled off her glove and put it to her lips. Oh, Cammie wished she could be like that woman in Mexico or the red-head at the dance or Violet or all those other women who could flirt and be coquettish and have a man hungrily kiss her neck and bosom, wanting nothing more than to slide his hands up under her dress. But there had been Jake Phillips, that handsome cowhand who once pulled her down in the straw for a few rough caresses, but he was quickly sent away and threatened with a hole through his right eye if he ever took one step on the M Bar again.

Cammie slung both gloves across the room and they hit the wall and dropped to the floor. She wished Violet were there to take the brunt of her frustration. It would be satisfying to grab Violet's hair and pull it for some perceived clumsiness. But Violet wasn't there so instead, Cammie threw herself on the bed and cried, giving no thought to the expensive Chantilly lace overlay she was crushing.

~ 0 ~

Adam parked the buggy a distance from the creek. Taking his rifle in hand, he slowly walked toward the spot indicated in the note, being careful of where he placed his feet. Finally, he saw "Lover's Tree", two fir trees that had sprung up so close to one another that their trunks began merging into one about five feet up. He heard light footsteps stirring debris as if someone was pacing, so crouching down to look through the branches, he saw the figure of a woman, Violet. She was there, waiting but before he stepped into the clear, Adam looked about and listened for others. No other sounds came to him so he stepped out of the trees.

Violet gasped, putting one small hand to her bosom. "Oh, you frightened me."

"Sorry," he said, looking about as he walked toward her. "Just checking to see if you were alone."

"I'm alone. I hope you're not dangerous—at least, not too dangerous. But I wasn't going to wait much longer, can't—I have to get back to the house."

"And report on our meeting."

Violet laughed and it was like tiny silver bells ringing out in the night. "No, you fool—I escaped the Colonel's bed tonight but still need to crawl through the window back into my room. I have a headache, in case you couldn't tell. Do you think I'm kept about just to tend to Miss Cammie?"

"Well, you are a pretty one and look as if you have…hidden talents," Adam said, admiring her. "But why take the chance to meet me out here if you aren't up to some subterfuge on his behalf?"

"Because I like you. I like your hands." Violet reached out for his empty left hand, studied it, and then placed it firmly over her left breast, holding it in place. "Can you feel my heart beat?" she asked.

"Just pounding away," Adam replied.

"Did you feel Miss Cammie's breasts, that is, what little she has? Did you kiss her?" Violet, raised her other arm and pulled Adam's head down to meet hers; he complied. She kissed his mouth. Adam released her breast as she put her other arm about his neck and he held her close, his free arm about her small body, but he still held onto his rifle. Violet kissed well and Adam found himself enjoying the movement of her lips and the quick darting about of her tongue. But he didn't travel all that way just for a kiss, no matter how good.

He pulled his head back and Violet, with a small pout, took down her arms. "What is it you want, girl?"

"I don't want anything. I have something for you." She looked up at him from under her sooty lashes.

"Oh?'

"I think you're looking for the Colonel's gold. And I believe I know where it is."

Adam sized her up. "What do you know about gold?" He waited for her answer and she danced away a bit, turning to look at him. Her skirts swished and she practically shimmied with delight.

"Oh, the Colonel talks, loves to talk, and I listen to everything he says—and I remember. One night he said something about Confederate gold, how he had managed to disguise it in something or the other, and when the war ended, he shipped it home. He's terrified of it though, afraid he'll be caught and hanged and he wants nothing more than to turn it to paper money and stick it in some bank somewhere, but he has to do it slowly so no one becomes suspicious. Once he was talking about having it melted down and made into gold bars but for now, it's still in coins."

"And why would I believe you about any of this?"

Violet dropped her long cape on the ground, unbuttoned her blouse partway and reached into her camisole and pulled out a gold coin. She handed it to Adam. He noticed it was warm where it had lain against her skin. "That was a little bonus for an especially memorable night for the Colonel. It is Confederate gold, isn't it?"

Adam held it up, turning it in the available light, and looked at the face of Lady Liberty with the circle of stars on the obverse of the coin and the date, 1861. After placing his rifle on the ground, Adam pulled out a match and looked at the eagle on the back. He knew what to look for-and there it was, the "D" indicating it was from the Dahlonega, Georgia mint. "It is," Adam said, shaking out the match and tossing the coin back to Violet who quickly closed her fist around it. "But you haven't told me yet why you're telling me about the gold." He picked up his rifle again.

"Because I'm tired of him and God knows I'm tired of Cammie. She wants to be rid of me but she doesn't know about her father and me; he wouldn't kick me out of his bed just to please his horse-faced daughter. She wants me put to scrubbing cook pots and getting red, rough hands from working in the kitchen and with my hair smelling like onions. I want to leave but have no way—except that coin-or you."

"Okay. Tell me where the gold is and then tell me what you want from me."

"The gold is somewhere in his office. Behind the staircase is the door and the gold is hidden in there somewhere."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't doubt me. And I'm guessing you were sent by someone, most likely the government, to woo Miss Cammie and slowly get out of her where the gold is. But she doesn't know. Has no idea except that the Colonel came home from the war a very wealthy man."

"I see," Adam said. "And you're willing to help me find the gold."

"I could be persuaded." Violet smiled and moved closer. "Put your rifle down and persuade me."

"I don't know about that, my sweet Violet."

"Look," she said, unbuttoning her blouse the rest of the way and pulling the lace of her camisole. "I'm unarmed. Persuade me, Adam, and I'll tell you everything."

"Oh, Violet. I hope you are easily persuaded." Adam grinned and placing his rifle on the ground, looked at her lovely face and bare, pale throat. She dropped to the ground on top of her cape, looking up at him, smiling. Adam dropped to his knees as well and Violet laughed, delighted, as she put out her arms to welcome him into her embrace. He kissed her and pushed Violet onto her back. "You'd better be worth all that gold, girl. You're the most expensive piece I've ever had."


	13. Chapter 13

I only checked this twice before posting it so there may be a typo or two. Hope this is enjoyable to anyone who decides to read. Thanks.

**Thirteen ~ Machinations**

Adam drove the buggy into the yard of the Ponderosa. It was late and he had spent far too long with Violet but she had been worth every second that ticked by. Adam worked on unhitching the harness tracings; he decided he'd leave the buggy in the yard overnight after tending the horse. All he wanted now was sleep.

"Easy, girl," he said as the last of the tack dropped away and he led the horse inside and into the stall where the other horses welcomed her with snuffles and snorts. He turned her about, holding on to the rope bridle that she always wore, and secured the bar across the opening. The barn boy had already filled her trough with a mixture of oats and alfalfa. "Now, you eat your fill and I'll have Lyndon rub you down in the morning." Adam walked outside and pulled the barn door shut. He turned to face a rifle pointed at him.

"Not very smart to leave your weapon behind. I'd think the army would've taught you better," Kelley said.

Adam walked toward him and grabbing the rifle by the barrel, jerked it away from Kelley; he shouldn't have left his rifle behind and hated looking negligent. "I ought to shove this up your ass and pull the trigger!" Kelley laughed but Adam was still angry with himself. "What the hell are you doing here? Must be close to midnight."

"Actually, it's past midnight. I waited for you on the road, figured you'd have to ride that way, but you didn't. And yet, here you are—safe and sound."

"I took the scenic route home, if it's any of your business. Beautiful countryside hereabouts. Stopped and watched the moon reflected on the lake—that's just the kind of man I am," Adam said, "goddamn poetic."

The front door opened, casting an arc of light into the front yard. Ben Cartwright, wearing slippers and a robe over his nightshirt and carrying a pistol, stepped onto the porch. "Adam? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Pa. I just put the horse away. I'll take care of the buggy in the morning."

"It's after midnight; I was beginning to worry a bit. Hoss said you and Miss Mansfield left the dance long before him." Standing under the porch light, Ben searched the shadows to see who else he had heard. "Someone with you?"

Kelley stepped into the circle of light cast by the open door. "It's me, Mr. Cartwright-Agent Lew Kelley. Just having a little confab with your son here."

Ben looked dubious so Adam spoke up. "It's okay, Pa. I'll be in soon."

"Okay, son." And Ben reluctantly closed the door; he wanted Adam safely inside.

Kelley's tone changed. His gut told him Captain Cartwright was withholding information-intentionally. "Let's cut through all this bullshit, Cartwright. Did you learn anything from Mansfield's daughter about the gold?"

"No." Adam held the rifle balanced on his shoulder.

Kelley heaved a sigh. "You were supposed to get her to cozy up to you and spill where the gold was-if there is gold. Have you seen any evidence there is?"

Adam thought of the gold coin Violet showed him, still warm from her flesh, but that wasn't necessarily proof of anything except that she could please a man. And his mind went to Violet and her soft skin and teasing tongue. She was surprisingly experienced for one so young and delectable. "I'm not sure. But I plan on checking…on following up, as any good agent should. You know, like you following up on me." Adam was pleased to see Kelley's anger.

"Just speak straight, Cartwright. What did Cammie say?" Keeley asked, frowning.

"All Cammie Mansfield knows is that her father came home from the war a very wealthy man. If she has suspicions on the source of the sudden wealth, she didn't say, but she might in the future, on a picnic or such."

Kelley stood straighter then and smiled. "Then you do have plans?"

Adam grimaced. "Indefinite plans. But she left me with the impression she'd be open to another outing. And I think," Adam said, "she might like you. You ever thought of courting her?"

"Go to hell, Cartwright…but not before you find out if there's any gold. I need to get back to town, get some shut-eye." Kelley walked over to his horse and took the reins in hand. "Why do I get the feeling you're not being…forthcoming?"

Adam shrugged. "Maybe you're just suspicious by nature."

"Yeah," Kelley said, mounting his horse. "That must be it."

Adam watched Kelley ride away and then walked across the yard to the house. He knew he'd have to tell his father something about why he was so late just out of consideration; his father must have been pacing, worrying about him traveling safely across the M Bar. But the story could be the same as what he told Kelley, the moon on the lake. His father wouldn't buy it either but it wouldn't matter as long as he was home safe and sound.

~ 0 ~

Adam lay in the dark on his familiar bed where he had, as he matured and felt the burgeoning urges of desire, fantasized about girls and kissing them and perhaps, if he could manage it, touching a soft breast. The curtains fluttered in the night breeze. It was chilly but he preferred it over Mexico's stifling heat that many nights, had him sitting shirtless under the wooden overhang of Carmelita's adobe "casa", unable to sleep.

He let the crisp air lightly whisper across his bare chest and thought again of Violet. He couldn't help but smile. She was something else and Adam could well understand why she was Mansfield's weakness. The Colonel was an older man and to have a young woman like Violet play up to him and tell him how wonderful he was, how virile and desirable he was, could be a difficult trap to escape. Adam knew, closing in on forty in a little over another year, that he could easily fall into that trap as well. Vanity ensnared many a man and brought him down. And Violet did have clever hands and her mouth…Adam almost groaned, remembering. He told himself to keep in mind that Violet was crafty and wanted enough money to be, as she put it, a woman of independent means-not having to fetch for anyone else or share a bed with any man she didn't desire. And with that comment, she had slid her hand sinuously over his bare chest.

Finally, Adam had grabbed her wrists and pining her to the ground, demanded she tell him about the gold and her demands, as he had just about had enough of her machinations, no matter how pleasing she was.

"You could take me over your knee and spank me," Violet said, smiling.

"Violet, its late. Besides, I have a suspicion you'd enjoy that far too much." He released her and standing, buttoned himself up. His tucked the tails of his shirt into his waistband and started on the shirt buttons. "I don't have time for you anymore and this little game you want to play."

"Oh, all right. Help me up, would you?" Violet put up one hand and after considering, Adam pulled her to her feet. She began to arrange her clothing. "This coming Wednesday, the Colonel and Mr. Costello are leaving for San Francisco to meet with some railroad people about selling rights-of-way—something like that. Anyway, they're going to Carson City and taking the train from there. He wanted me to go with him but when I asked him how he would explain that to his daughter, well, he finally agreed I should stay after all." Violet paused while Adam picked up the coin, handed it to her and then shook out her cape and placed it about her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, tying the ribbons at her throat while still holding the gold coin.

"Why is he taking Costello?"

"I think the Colonel is overly cautious. That charming Irishman is always chucking me under the chin, pinching and patting my fanny. I think the Colonel's afraid to leave him behind at the ranch, afraid I'll find I like Costello's bed better'n his."

Adam smiled, "The Colonel may be right about that. But go on with your plan," Adam said, slipping on his jacket.

"You be outside his office window at eleven this coming Wednesday night; everyone, all the hired men should be asleep by then and Cook snores enough to raise the dead! When Mansfield's gone, they drink a bit too much anyway, so they'll stay asleep. I'll let you in and I'm sure, together, we can find where the gold's hidden." Violet sidled up to Adam and slipped her arms about his torso, resting her head on his chest. "I can hear your heart pounding away," she said.

"Gold does that to me."

With a sound of disgust, Violet pushed herself from him. "Well, that's my plan to find the gold. And I get any reward for its recovery or for turning in the Colonel. You're already a rich man."

"Okay, I agree to that. But let me ask you this—why haven't you looked for the gold yourself?"

"I have." Violet pouted. "I couldn't find it."

"Then maybe it's not there."

"It's there—I know it's there! I told you, Mansfield gave me that coin and that's proof he has Confederate gold. You verified it yourself. He was in his office and when he came out, I was dusting all that tacky bric-a-brac in the parlor and he dropped that coin down the front of my dress, stealing a kiss as well. He hadn't been anywhere else but his office–-not outside at all—just his office. And then he said he was going to…to…some rancher somewhere to talk about a seed bull; I think he had taken out some of the gold to pay someone because he never came home with any bull. Not everyone is as knowledgeable about stolen gold as you are, Adam—or even care about it. To them, gold is gold. Why the Colonel really went away that time, I don't know nor do I care, but he didn't come home until late the next day in a very bad mood. I should have gotten another gold coin for my performance that night as well!"

"How do I know Mansfield didn't give you that piece as payment to set me up, so he can shoot me in his house, a sneak thief come crawling in the window."

"You are a suspicious man, Adam Cartwright, aren't you? You don't trust anyone. If I was going to set you up, then someone would have shot your ass off long before this; there was plenty of time when you were unarmed and exposed." Violet smiled and then giggled. "Oh, Adam you're so serious. Don't you ever laugh?"

"Not much is funny to me anymore. Okay, Violet. I'll be there Wednesday at eleven. I hope I don't regret trusting you."

"I hope I don't regret trusting you! Now, I have to get back and hope the Colonel hasn't been scratching at my door, begging to get in." She scrambled up the rise, lifting her skirts to keep the hems clean. At the top, she turned. "Goodnight, Adam."

"Goodnight, Violet. And take care of yourself." He watched as she smiled and then hurried off into the darkness. An old saying ran through his mind: _Women always speak the truth, but not the whole truth._ Adam hoped he hadn't made a mistake in trusting Violet but soon enough, Adam told himself, he'd find out.

~ 0 ~

The following Sunday morning was quiet with the rest of the family at church. Adam ate his breakfast of over-easy eggs, buttered toast, and hot coffee, sitting on the front porch, enjoying the morning, the birdsong, and tossing the bread crusts to the chickens that scratched about. He leaned back, setting the chair on its back legs, head resting against the wall, and closed his eyes. He was still drowsy after the late night but considered fetching his guitar and working out the fingering for a new melody he had heard at the dance. He went over the strings in his head and then considered buying a banjo. Could it be that much different than a guitar? And the fiddle—he always enjoyed listening to the fiddle. Of course, it would take time to learn to ply a bow and he knew that practicing would often sound like a cat screeching. And while lost in thought, he heard a rider approaching and dropped the chair flat.

Cammie Mansfield, dressed in the riding habit she had been wearing the first time they met, rode into the yard, smiling broadly when she saw him. Adam stepped off the porch, smiling back as she pulled up her horse.

"Help me down?" she asked, putting out her arms.

"Of course." Adam stepped over and put his hands about her waist, helping lift her down; he had forgotten how tall she was. "What brings you out to the Ponderosa this morning and why aren't you in church like ever good Christian girl should be?"

"Perhaps I'm not a good Christian girl. And I'm pleased to see you're home and not a good Christian man." Cammie was trying too hard to be coy, flirtatious and provocative but to Adam, it was jarring; she wasn't the type.

"I find that hard to believe," Adam replied, "but come sit on the porch for a bit. Or would you prefer a cup of coffee inside."

"Why not a cup of coffee on the porch?" Cammie said, delighted.

Adam agreed and led her to the house, stopping to pick up his dishes. "My breakfast," he explained.

"Oh, you cook. You are a Renaissance man, aren't you?"

"No, not at all. Just a hungry man. Please," he said, stepping back, "go in.""

Cammie stepped into the house and stood in true admiration. "Oh, Adam, this is wonderful house. It's so, so…masculine."

He chuckled. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that, but considering five men live here, I guess it is."

Cammie's face was lit with enthusiasm. "No, I mean, in my mind, a house is either feminine or masculine. This one is decidedly masculine. There's no delicate, porcelain statues or doilies lying about. No fancy sheers or rugs…why these Indian rugs are just wonderful and perfect here!" She placed one hand on the back of the closest leather chair. "And these chairs are so wonderful-and that blue wingback is the prefect contrast to the colors in the settee!" She spun about. "Oh, I could live in this house forever and not want to change a thing!"

Adam didn't know what to say; Cammie was making him uncomfortable; he wondered if she was hinting at a possible marriage with him. Her comments could have no underlying motive, but what would become of her after her father's wealth and land was confiscated, that is, if the acreage was bought with stolen Confederate gold as it was beginning to look? Where would she go? Was he responsible for her in any way? Adam examined his feelings, something he rarely did anymore as he found they were best left dormant. The army had taught him to kill, something his sense of self had always rebelled against. And using people was also against his morals. But then, as he had reconciled himself with the many lives he had taken on the battlefield, reconciled with the few feelings he had leaving Carmelita and her boys, he also considered that Cammie was just another person involved in this scenario and pity for her could cause him to make a mistake, one that could cost him his life.

"Glad you like it so much. It's gone through transitions over the years, but we're comfortable with it."

"You studied to be an architect, correct?" Cammie noticed Adam's change in expression; he was surprised. "That was in Costello's report as well," she added and watched him relax.

"Yes, I studied back east. Why?"

"I just wondered if you had a hand in the design. I mean it looks so rugged and strong—like you." Cammie smiled.

Adam felt the need to change the subject. "A bit of a hand. Sit down, please, and I'll bring out the coffee and we can sit on the porch as you wanted." He walked into the kitchen and placed his dishes in the sink, pumping water over them. Reaching for a cup and saucer on the shelf, he realized Cammie had come into the kitchen.

"This is a big kitchen. I guess your Chinese cook likes working here."

"He must—he's been with us long enough. But he also has quite a few perks like bonuses on all Chinese holidays and there seem to be a lot of them although I've suspected on occasion, the holiday is a particularly bad night at the mahjong table."

"Mahjong? I don't believe I…let me pour the coffee, Adam. That's women's work." Cammie came over and stood far too close. Adam was considering how he would respond if Cammie asked for a kiss—not that he would be averse; he had kissed so many girls in the past that they blurred in his memory, but she might interpret it as something other than he intended. And what if she wanted him to go further, to carry her upstairs to his bedroom? That wouldn't be fair to Cammie, for her to surrender her virginity to him, no matter how desperate she was to be free of it.

Cammie, touched Adam's chest, her fingers resting lightly on his shirt, and was about to say something when the jangling sound of wagon traces and male voices floated in on the breeze through the half-open Dutch door.

"My family's home," Adam said. "C'mon, I'll introduce you." He took Cammie's elbow and steered her toward the kitchen door; her crestfallen face revealed everything to Adam. He had been correct—she had wanted more from him that he could give. And Adam found himself particularly devoid of compassion for the lanky, ungainly woman.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to those who are reading. I'm writing an epilogue to neaten things up and that wil be it!**

**Fourteen ~ Unforseen Events**

Ben was surprised to meet Cammie Mansfield on his own property, not that he wouldn't have allowed it. It was just that to him, she was presumptuous to think she would be welcome when one step onto Mansfield's property could result in a beating or even being shot and perhaps killed. Nevertheless, Ben Cartwright was the gracious host of the Ponderosa and invited her inside. Perhaps, he asked, she would stay for lunch, that is if she wasn't in a hurry?

"Why I would love to Mr. Cartwright." Cammie said, stepping onto the porch with him. "I was telling Adam how much I admired your home, how it reflects all of you who live here." She made a sweeping gesture with her arms. "And your property, the Ponderosa, is beautiful, at least the parts I've seen. The M Bar doesn't have all the scenery, a lot of scrub brush areas-nothing as lovely as around here. That's why my father bought the Running D. It's so lovely there. Oh, not as lovely as here but there are a lot of green pastures and trees; I just fell in love with it and already have ideas for a house. I'm hoping I can convince Adam to help with the plans."

Cammie looked over at Adam who was caught off guard. "Oh, well," he said, "it's been a long time since I …"

Cammie laughed. "Oh, Adam. You look like a fish caught on a line! I would give you time!"

Adam smiled. "Yes, well, Pa, I was just about to get Cammie some coffee."

Joe, other than nodding while being introduced by Adam, hadn't yet spoken but now he volunteered to put up the horse and buggy, but Cammie protested. "Oh, I was hoping that I could have a short tour of the area and since you already have the buggy hitched…well, I'd like to see why this land is so coveted."

"Oh," Ben asked, one brow arching, "do you know anyone who covets it?"

"Oh, no! That wasn't what I meant—I used the wrong word. I should have said admired as I've heard talk that many people've tried to get their hands on some of your acreage through legal and illegal means. Since I came here on the road, as I'm not familiar with the area, I'm sure there are many beautiful spots that I didn't see and would love to. Perhaps, if there's time before lunch, one of you could take me about." Cammie glanced hopefully at Adam.

He ran his hands over his cheeks and chin. "Not me, Cammie. I combed my hair with my fingers this morning, haven't even shaved or washed after all that dancing last night, and I'm sure sharing close quarters with me such as a buggy seat would be unpleasant, like riding with a polecat." But it wasn't the dancing that caused Adam concern but wondering if Cammie would smell Violet on him; he could have and should have washed their mingled odor off him that morning but had been too indolent. But as he had bent down to take his toast out of the oven, his own rank smell hit him. He had planned a leisurely bath after breakfast, hoping to soak in a hot tub to consider his situation regarding the gold.

"Oh, but…" Cammie tried to think of a reason why it should be Adam and only Adam when Hoss spoke up.

"Now, you just come along with me, Miss Cammie. I'll take you 'bout the Ponderosa, ride you along the lake and get you back in time for lunch. My stomach knows 'zactly when lunch is gonna be served, even a lunch of warmed-over Saturday supper. Now you just come with me afore Sally there thinks she's goin' in the barn."

Hoss took Cammie's arm but she glanced back at Adam who held up his hand as a wave of sorts. Hoss helped Cammie up into the buggy seat and then he climbed in beside her, snapped the reins and drove off around the corner of the barn.

Joe, one eyebrow cocked, said, "Looks like she's got her cap set for you, oldest brother. Hmmm, hmmm…wonder what my nieces and nephews will look like?" And Joe giggled.

Adam glared at him.

"Go inside, would you Joe?" Ben asked. "I need to talk with Adam."

"Oh, making wedding arrangements?" His eyes glittered with mischief.

"Joe, just go in the house," Ben said.

"I'm going, I'm going!' And laughing over his own joke and Adam's situation, Joe went inside to change clothes and hang up his Sunday suit.

"Well, Adam?"

"Well, what?"

"Did you invite Miss Mansfield here?"

"No, I didn't. She rode in on her own. It's not hard to find us, you know."

"What did she want?"

"I guess a tour of the Ponderosa." Adam turned to go inside.

"Adam! Would you just stop for a minute?" Adam did, his mouth pursed. He didn't want to talk about Cammie or anything else. "Did anything vital happen last night that you didn't tell me? Anything concerning Cammie? You didn't get home until late so if..."

"Nothing happened concerning Cammie. I kissed her hand last night. Made no promises to her. Her father was waiting for her so I couldn't have kissed her mouth even had I wanted to."

"Did you want to?"

"No. Cammie Mansfield is a nice enough woman. She wants to be married and I think she sees me as the most available man in her limited circle. If she finds me an attractive prospect for any other reason but that I'm a Cartwright and unmarried, I don't know, but there's a sense of desperation about her and with little coaxing, I think she'd gladly toss up her skirts for just about anyone as long as marriage followed. But I'm not interested. I find her…pitiable. A man can't love who he pities-he can just be kind and that's what I've been. She's misread it." And Adam turned and walked to the house thinking he should quickly wash and shave; in the rising warmth of outdoors, he realized that the pungent odor about him may be another reason his father asked if anything else had transpired between him and Cammie.

Ben had Saturday's leftover pork roast in the oven surrounded by the potatoes and carrots. Half a peach pie sat waiting as dessert, covered by a dishtowel, and he had made biscuits. They were done early but he had mistimed them and they sat cooling on the baking sheet, waiting to be removed. He kept checking the roast; it looked a bit dried out and there was no gravy left. And the carrots were shrunk and wrinkled. Ben understood why Hop Sing was so angry when they came late to dinner as cooking was an art-but one requiring the participants be present—on time.

Joe sat at the round side table playing himself in a game of checkers and he looked up as Adam came down, clean-shaven, his hair still damp, and buttoning up a white shirt. "All that for Cammie?" Joe asked. "Whoo-ee!"

"No, Joe," Adam said, "this is all for you."

Joe laughed and then went back to jumping a black checker with a red one.

"Well, at least you're ready for lunch!" Ben said, with irritation as he stepped out of the kitchen. "The roast is overdone, the carrots and potatoes dried out! My biscuits are cold too! Now, where are Hoss and Cammie?" Just then, they heard not just the buggy but other riders come into the yard. All three Cartwrights, stepped out on the porch but Adam pulled his gun from its holster before he stepped out, holding it down at his side.

Hoss looked daunted as the buggy he drove was escorted by an M Bar rider on each side. Ben Cartwright stepped out farther along with Joe but Adam held back. He would have a better vantage point that way.

"What's this?" Ben asked. "Who are you two and what do you want?"

"It's okay, Pa," Hoss said, stepping out of the buggy and going around to Cammie, but she had already jumped down.

Cammie was almost shaking and her cheeks were flushed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cartwright, I won't be staying for lunch. It seems my father was concerned for my whereabouts and sent some ranch hands to find me. I'm afraid I must return home. Thank you for your invitation—perhaps another time." She looked over at Adam and he stepped off the porch. Cammie noticed the gun and looked at the two men still sitting on their horses. One put his hand on his gun, waiting.

Adam stuck his gun in his waistband. "I'm sorry you can't stay, Cammie. You missed my father substituting as cook."

"Yeah," Joe said, grinning but sensing there could easily be trouble, "which means you didn't miss much."

"Perhaps some other time," Ben said, smiling. "Let me help you with your horse."

"Oh," she said. "Thank you. And perhaps my father and I can have all of you over for dinner soon. If we're going to be such close neighbors, we may as well start being good ones to you."

Ben quickly checked the saddle cinch while Cammie looked at Adam yearningly. Then Ben helped lift her into her sidesaddle.

"Thank you, again," Cammie said. Adam walked closer. "Did you shave for me?" she asked Adam, smiling.

Adam grinned. "I shaved for you and everyone else who had to look at me. Goodbye, Cammie."

"Let's go, Miss Mansfield," one of the men said and waited until Cammie Mansfield did. She looked back once in the hopes Adam would wave. But he didn't.

~ 0 ~

"We've been finding more beeves and calves than I thought we would," Ben said to his sons as they sat together with a drink before bed, all except Adam; he had coffee laced with a slug of whiskey. "And the new hands've worked out well. I'm pleased with the hires."

"Me too, Pa," Hoss said. "The men are working well but part of that may be because Landry knows just how hard to ride 'em—not too much but just enough to keep 'em goin'. But for our count, I'da thought Mansfield woulda stole a lot more than he did."

"Maybe he's over that," Adam said. "I don't see him as a rancher. I have a feeling the stolen steers were just to get our attention but now, well, I'm not sure what he's after."

"But I know what his daughter's after," Hoss said, raising his brows and grinning.

Joe laughed. "Yeah, Adam. Maybe with you two hooked up, peace will reign supreme!"

"All right you two," Ben said before Adam could respond. "We have another long day ahead of us."

"Yeah, I'm gettin' to bed." Hoss stood up and drained his glass, replacing it on the table. "'Night, ever'body." Hoss headed up the stairs, followed by Joe, leaving Ben and Adam alone.

Adam finished his coffee but still sat, looking at the empty cup in his hands. Ben took another sip of his whiskey. "What is it, Adam? You've been edgy all day."

"I…I have to go out tonight. I don't know for how long."

"Where are you going?"

"It's better you don't know anything."

"Adam, I can't agree with that. I think I should know. What if something happens to you? If I don't know where you are and you don't come home, what…"

"Pa! Just stop. Just stop and listen to yourself. I'm not a child anymore and you can't protect me from the world. There are some things I have to do on my own and this is one of them."

Ben put down his drink. "I know, Adam, I know. Just tell me this—does it have anything to do with Mansfield?" Adam looked at his father. "Okay, forget I asked. Just please-be careful."

"I always am, Pa."

~ 0 ~

The house was silent, the only light coming through the front window from the porch light, and Adam, as quietly as he could, buckled on his gun belt. He paused and then reached for his father's gun, sliding it from its holster. He snapped out the cylinder and saw it was loaded so after closing it, he stuck it in the back of his waistband. Then he left to saddle up Beau.

Adam stayed off the main road that connected the two pieces of property. There was only a sliver of moon out and he listened carefully for sounds. He suddenly realized his heart was thudding and his breathing was shallow—signs of fear. He was afraid but it wasn't about sneaking into Mansfield's house—it was a faceless fear that the darkness and the smells, especially the crisp odor of pine trees and the unknown dangers hiding in the trees. He wanted to tell himself he was foolish; the war was over but Adam knew better than to minimize risk. A sniper could still be waiting in the trees for any trespasser on the M Bar. He knew his excess caution could save his life so he continued his vigilance until he reached Mansfield's house, riding in a large arc until he came to the back and dismounted a distance from the house.

He crept closer, keeping himself as low as possible until he came within ten feet of the window that was open, the sash having been pulled-up. He pulled his gun and looked about. No one. The bunk house was about 30 yards away and the lights were off. The house was dark as well.

Adam walked to the house and flattened himself against the wall, slowly leaning to look inside. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and glancing in, he saw Violet pacing in the dark room. No one else was there unless they were hiding under the desk; it wasn't a large room. He stepped in front of the window and whispered, "Violet."

"Oh!" she put a hand to her bosom and immediately ran to the window. "Oh, Adam, I was sure you'd come tonight but you still scared me. Quick, come in so I can close the window."

Adam holstered his revolver and put one long leg over the sill and by ducking his head, managed to get through.

"Your shoulders are almost too wide," Violet said, running her hands up and down his arms. Then she sighed. "I do like you, Adam. Perhaps we can celebrate finding the gold by having a tumble on that big couch after. Would serve the Colonel right."

"I have work to do, Violet. Now you can leave." Adam started to guide her to the door.

"The door's locked. I came in through the window."

"Wait a minute? The door's locked? How did you get in here to unlock the window then?"

"I unlocked it earlier today. The Colonel has the only key to the door but before he left, we had a 'goodbye' on the desk—he likes it that way. While he was buttoning up, I slid the lock on the window. Tonight, I opened it from the outside and climbed in just like you. Now let's look for the gold."

"No. I'll look. You go out the window." Adam scooped Violet up in his arms and slid her feet first out the window. She wanted to protest but feared making any noise.

"Adam," Violet whispered through the window, "be careful. Remember, Cook snores and won't hear a thing but Cammie's a light sleeper."

"Go back to your room, Violet."

"You take care, Adam. Remember though, I get the reward." She smiled, blew him a kiss, and left.

Adam closed the window and then looked about to see if there was an obvious safe or even a disguised one, but he saw nothing. The outside walls weren't thick enough to hide a wall safe—the width of their windows was proof of that. But the two inside walls held possibility. He started running his hands along the wood panels on the walls, lightly knocking at intervals to check the tone, to hear if one section sounded different. But even after going along the walls, there was nothing.

He opened the desk drawers as none were locked, but found nothing in particular. There were file drawers and he slowly opened them. There was no box, no hidden key just as the desk hadn't held one, and it was too dark to read the files. If he found the gold, he would tell Agent Kelley and with a warrant, Kelley could go through the files; he didn't have the time anyway.

"Now where would I hide…" Adam walked to the center of the room where a thick, hand-carved, Aubusson wool rug lay. He pulled a chair off it and rolled back the rug. Even in the darkness, he could see a wooden trap door created with floor boards, and a finger hole. Adam kneeled down and hooked one finger into the hole and lifted. Below, in a paneled hole, was a large strong box. He tried to lift it out but it was heavy, very heavy but locked. He couldn't shoot the lock off to see if it held the gold although he was sure it did. So, Adam considered. His initial plan was just to tell Kelley where the gold was, but what if the gold wasn't still there tomorrow? He decided to take the strong box with him. He would carry it to the horse and drag the strong bow behind with a rope. Or hide it nearby.

Adam grabbed the handles and lifted the strong box out of the hole. Carefully, he closed the trap door and then arranged the rug, replacing the chair. He opened the window and dropped the box to the side, climbing out after it. He gently pulled down the window. He was about to lean down for the box when he heard, "Just leave it be, Cartwright."

He looked up and James Costello, a smile on his face, had a gun pointed at him. Violet was held by another man, twisting one of her arms up behind her back and his other hand clapped firmly over her mouth, her eyes wide and fearful.

Adam stood up. "Thought you were in San Francisco."

"Well, I made up a reason to come back. Thought I'd have a little fun with Violet and then maybe have a look around for where the gold was hidden. Don't want it all, just a few thousand, and then for bargaining purposes. I always suspected the old man had it hidden somewhere in the house. Thanks for finding it for me, Cartwright. Afraid though, I'm going to have to shoot you for the thief you are. Now, drop your gun, would you? I promise I'll put it right back in your hand after you're dead. Wouldn't look good for me to kill an unarmed man."

"What about Violet? What are you going to do with her?" Adam nodded toward the terrified woman.

"Well, have a little fun with her for a bit but sad to say, she's more or less finished. The Colonel will decide what to do with her seeing as she's helped you, whether to slice off her nose or brand her cheek—on her face or her ass—maybe both." He chuckled and the other man laughed as well. "Now, the gun, please. Just use your left hand to pull it."

Adam, being obvious, pulled aside the right side of his jacket revealing his holster. Then he slowly pulled his gun out with his left hand and tossed it to the ground. He raised both his hands shoulder-height. "Now what?" Adam could feel the pressure of his father's gun against his back, waiting for the chance to pull it. It may not save his life, being awkward to reach around under his jacket to grab it, but it just might give Violet a chance to run and that alone would be worth it. Hadn't he been trained by the Army to willingly sacrifice his life for others? For the greater good? Wasn't it so ingrained in him that it was second nature? Perhaps. But to never see the blue sky again, a hawk gliding above, hear birdsong and howl of a lone wolf, to never to see his father's smile or hear Hoss's deep laugh and Joe's high-pitched giggle, to never more be with a woman, make love to her, and in the morning, see world awaken as the sun streamed through the window-oh, he didn't want to give any of that up but he knew what he had to do.

Without taking his eyes off of Adam, Costello said, "Stanton, check him out-see if he has another gun inside his jacket. Keep your hands up, Cartwright."

"What about her?" Stanton asked, still struggling with Violet.

"Hopefully, she'll run. I need some target practice. Now go check him out."

Adam's heart sank as Stanton, holstering his own gun, checked the inside of his jacket and then, on some whim, felt the back of his jacket and found the gun. He pulled aside Adam's jacket and with a little trouble, removed the revolver.

"Well," Stanton said, "looky, looky what I found." He held up the gun and smiled at Costello. And Adam acted. He grabbed Stanton's gun from the man's holster. Costello was surprised and that made him a second late in aiming and in that second, Adam grabbed Stanton across the neck and Costello fired; instead of hitting Adam, Costello shot Stanton in the chest. The man shuddered as his hands flew wide. Violet screamed out of pure terror and Adam took advantage of the distraction to fire at Costello, hitting him in the thigh. Costello dropped to the ground where he writhed, grimacing in pain.

Adam dropped Stanton's body and hurried over to where Violet still screamed, sitting on the ground where she had fallen. Adam saw a light come on in the bunkhouse and the men, holding guns, running out. They began to cross the area to where Adam stood.

"Violet! Violet!" Adam grabbed her arms and pulled her up. He shook her and she stopped screaming but her eyes were unfocused.

"Now listen to me!" He shook her one more time and she settled down, not looking at the groaning man on the ground but at Adam. "Go find my horse. He's tied-off in that clump of trees over there. Then ride as fast as you can to the Ponderosa and tell my father and brothers what happened and that we need a doctor and the sheriff. Now do it!" Violet nodded. Adam gave her a small shove and she took off, holding up her wrap, and ran as fast as she could across the area, stumbling once, losing a slipper, and then picking it up. Adam hoped she'd have the sense to check the cinch before mounting.

He grabbed Costello, kicking the man's gun aside, and pulled him up, even though he could barely stand, but Adam wanted him as a shield. The bunkhouse men closed the distance quickly but stopped when they saw that Adam held a gun to Costello's head.

"Now all of you just back off. You shoot me and I shoot him."

The men looked at one another. Two of the men stepped aside. "Look, we didn't sign on for nothin' like this. C'mon," one man said to the other, "let's take off. We're leaving, mister." They tossed their guns aside and backed off, turning once they were far enough away and loping to the bunkhouse. But the three left stood their ground. Adam knew there were at least seven men who worked the place, Stanton being one, but there were only five who'd shown.

One man spoke. "First, you tell us what's going on and why we should care about him" He motioned toward Costello with his gun. "He may work for the Colonel but he's not one of us. What's to keep us from killing both at you at the same time?"

"Because," a voice came from the shadows, "I'll shoot you if you do." Kelley stepped around the corner of the house with a rifle, followed by another man holding a hand gun, the missing ranch hand, Hanley. "I'm a Treasury agent and you don't want to harm me or Captain Cartwright here. Just drop your guns and back away." After a quick look at one another, the men complied.

"Took you long enough to show up," Adam said, dropping Costello back onto the dirt where he cried out, having landed on his injured thigh.

"Wanted to see how you handled yourself, Cartwright. Looks like you did damn well."

Adam snorted in disgust, knowing full well Kelley's excuse wasn't the truth as sweat ran down the sides of his face and his rifle shook a bit in his hands. "Yeah, I did goddamn well," Adam said. "You are one miserable son-of-a-bitch, Kelley. and I'm finished with this whole goddamn thing. The strong box was hidden in a hole under the rug in Mansfield's study and he has files that may contain important financial information. I don't really know, but I would imagine a warrant could be arranged quickly. Just don't go to Judge Wolfe in Carson City; he may be on Mansfield's payroll and the files may confirm it."

"Thanks, Captain," Kelley said while Hanley cuffed Costello as he lay on the ground.

"One other thing," Adam said, "Don't ever call me captain again or I swear I'll blow your head clean off."


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

Adam walked about to the front of the house, climbing the two porch steps. The house was dark but Cammie had to be awake after the gunshots. He rapped on the door panel. "Cammie! Cammie, it's me, Adam Cartwright." A curtain was slightly pulled aside and then a lamp was lit. The door opened and Cammie fell into his arms.

"Oh, Adam! Mrs. Hodges and I were so frightened! We heard gunshots and a woman screaming and Violet's not in her room!" She clung to Adam's arms and he maneuvered her back inside. The cook was huddling on the sofa in her nightcap and wrap.

"There's no danger—not anymore. The screams were Violet's but she's not hurt; she took my horse and rode to the Ponderosa for help. Costello's been shot and another man is dead, the one named Stanton. I'm afraid there's going to be a disruption in your life, Cammie. Here, sit down. It'll be easier to hear." Cammie looked at Adam and by his face, understood that what he was about to say would be devastating; she dropped on the couch, sitting with her head in her hands. "Mrs. Hodges," Adam asked, "would you make coffee? Quite a bit. There are going to be some visitors in a short time, the sheriff and the doctor among them, and they may want some."

"Yes, yes" she said, rising. "Of course. I'll go make some now." She hurried to the kitchen, relieved to have something to do.

Adam sat by Cammie. She looked up and he took her closest hand in both of his. "I can't tell you everything because I don't know everything and I have to be careful what I do say. But there's a treasury agent outside, Agent Lew Kelley, but make him show you his bona fides. He'll want to question you. I suggest you answer as truthfully as you can, but for your own protection, don't volunteer any additional information—just answer his questions."

"He's going to ask me about my father isn't it? And his sudden wealth after the war. I was always…" She looked at Adam. "So many things have happened recently—so many. And meeting you was just one of them—and the best." She smiled tremulously.

"Thank you for that," he said, "but in the long run, you may change your mind. I'm going to go back out. It's best if you wait here." He patted her hand and then stood.

"Yes, yes," Cammie said. "I'll stay here. There's no place else to go. But, Adam, tell me one thing…were you ever-even a little bit—in love with me?"

Adam paused. "You're a lovely woman, Cammie. You'd make…."

"Don't," Cammie said raising a hand. "I know the answer. Take your own advice, Adam; don't volunteer too much information." She sat back, resting her head on the cushion, and slow tears fell from her closed eyes. With one last look at Cammie, Adam left the house for good.

~ 0 ~

By the time the Cartwrights arrived home, Violet was curled up, asleep on their settee. Ben gently shook her awake and she startled, sitting up and looking around.

"Oh, what time is it?" she asked, putting her hand to her face. "Do I have to go back to the M Bar now?"

"No," Ben said. He smiled at her indulgently; she was one brave girl, arriving at the Ponderosa in her night clothes. She had even lost her way once, she said, but found the path again. "We've discussed you staying here tonight. Then, tomorrow, a good friend of ours, a widow named Mrs. Shaughnessy will gladly put you up; she'll welcome the company, I'm sure. You can decide what you want to do when you have time; Adam insisted the treasury agent give you the reward for finding the gold and leading to the arrest of Mansfield. It's quite a tidy sum, I understand."

Violet looked up at Adam and the other male faces about her. "Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. It's been a horrible night…" The grandfather clock struck 2:00 in the morning. "I could use a soft bed. Adam, would you show me to my room?"

"Of course," Adam said and taking Violet by her arm, led her up the stairs to one of the guest rooms.

"Bet he puts that pretty piece in the room next to his," Joe said. "And I wouldn't blame him."

Ben glared at Joe. "That's just about enough. It's been a long night and we all need sleep. Let's just go to bed."

After dousing the lamps, Joe and Adam followed their father upstairs exchanging glances with one another. And as they reached the landing, Hoss whispered to Joe as they passed Adam's open door; the room, empty, "I hope it's a dang quiet night up here." And Joe giggled.

Violet was truly frightened and twice, asked Adam to check the window. "Violet, you're safe up here; no one's going to hurt you, although once you become a woman of means with all that money…" He grinned.

"Oh, Adam, stop teasing me! Can't you stay with me a little bit? I mean at least until I fall asleep." Violet looked up at him from where she sat on the bed, her feet tucked under her.

"Listen, if I stay with you, I don't think either of us will get much sleep. Now, get under the covers and dream about all the wealth you'll have and all the things you can buy."

Violet pulled down the top sheet and down coverlet and snuggled under them. "How much money will I get, do you think?"

"I think, all in all, it may be as much as $4,000-that's the reward for both Mansfield and the return of the gold." He grinned as Violet looked up at the ceiling, a small smile on her lips.

"I can't believe it. I'll never have to fall on my back again." She looked up at Adam, wanting to qualify. "Unless I want to, of course!"

"Oh, of course," he said, tucking her in as if she was a child. And he couldn't resist kissing her forehead.

She looked up at him and her eyes held no guile. "If I stayed around here, stayed in this area, do you think I might find a husband? Perhaps, one with black hair and golden eyes and who's kind?"

Adam couldn't help but smile at her. "I wouldn't be surprised; there are a lot of men who fit that description."

"I had someone particular in mind." Violet smiled at him.

"Yeah, well, you go to sleep now. It'll be another long day tomorrow, at least for me, and after breakfast, you're going to Mrs. Shaughnessy's, probably wearing a shirt and some dungarees of Joe's." He walked to the door and turned out the lamp but before he closed the door behind him, Violet asked in a small voice.

"What will happen to Cammie?"

Adam knew the land bought with the stolen gold would be confiscated by the U.S. government, most likely handed over or sold at a reduced rate, to some railroad baron back east. All but the Running-D. It had little value to any railroad or the government due to its location and would probably be auctioned.

"I don't know," Adam replied. "She said she had an aunt back east; I'm guessing that's where she'll go."

"That's sad, sort of," Violet said. "I thought I hated her but now, I guess I don't. Goodnight, Adam."

"Goodnight, Violet. Sweet dreams." Adam pulled the door to and walked to his room. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and walked to the bed, turning down the covers. As he began to disrobe, a thought came to him; maybe he'd buy the Running D, tear down the dilapidated house and build a new one for a future bride, perhaps one with dark hair and mischievous eyes and a ready laugh. He had ideas for the house already, a river rock fireplace and a kitchen with the morning sun streaming in. And perhaps gas lights and indoor plumbing. Adam's mind started working on dimensions, on the materials—cedar and pine-and he smiled to himself. There was a reason to go forward, and in the morning, he'd start planning.

~ Finis ~


End file.
